


An Ascent Without Glory: Swansilhilde’s Song

by the_best_otaku



Category: A Choice with no Regrets - Fandom, Attack on Titan, Shingeki no Kyojin, aot, shingeki no kyoujin
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Attack on Titan AU, Crossover, Maria - Freeform, Multi, OC, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Fiction, POV Original Character, Rose - Freeform, Shingeki - Freeform, Shingeki no Kyoujin - Freeform, Sina - Freeform, Titans, alternate universe fic, aot - Freeform, attack on titan - Freeform, attack on titan re incarnation, isayama, kyoji, minor original characters, no, re incarnation, shingeki no kyojin - Freeform, titan shifter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-05-20 14:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_best_otaku/pseuds/the_best_otaku
Summary: An au where the events of A Choice With No Regrets are skewed slightly. A fic with heavy focus on an original kingdom, additional wall and cast of characters- this is my hot take on an SNK spin-off. Featuring a host of familiar characters join our heroine Princess Swansilhilde on her quest to usurp the throne from corrupt Sina officials, defeat the titans laying waste to her homeland, and unlock the secrets of her father’s titan shifting powers. Expect gore, grit, romance, flowery language, angst, humour and a sprinkling of Hanji’s wild rambling. Let’s go on a journey to see some big-ass trees shall we?





	1. Familiarizing Yourself W The Canon

**Author's Note:**

> So there’s a lot I wanted to mention regarding the timeline of our story, but unfortunately that would mean intense spoilers, so I’m going to omit as much as I can without the narrative getting too confusing. You’ll have to suspend your disbelief about a couple of things (geographically that is) as I’m doing my absolute best to make the set dressing of this story ~work~ for me. Please leave insightful comments for me if you wish, I’ll be sure to do my due diligence with criticism.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: if you want purely SNK business as usual (Erwin/hanji/ Sina/ Levi etc pls jump ahead to CHAPTER 5)
> 
> EDIT 2: Due to me being a dumb ass the super important pivotal and VERY necessary prologue to this story is published on its own! It’s called “The Fountainhead Of Days Gone By and it was published by me.

Hello!  
Welcome to Swansilhilde’s Song, This intro chapter is just to acclimatize you with the canon of the universe we’re working with. If you don’t care or like to fly by the seat of your pants feel free to skip this chapter. Consider this the reference wrap sheet for if ever you’re lost!

So I did some extensive research into the walls/cities of the SNK universe and the military hierarchy therein.  
Essentially you have:  
\- Inner Sina with Mitrass as the capital.  
\- Yalkell (left), Stohess (right), Herminia (entrance to Wall Rose) and the top most settlement is unnamed. 

Next:

\- Middle wall Rose.  
\- (left), Karanese (right), Trost (below), Nedlay (topmost settlement)

Finally:

\- Outter wall Maria.  
\- Shiganshina is located at the bottom

Our story takes place in the fictional Wall Filumena. The topmost settlement of Sina I imagine to be a network of tunnels leading into Filumena’s Capital City: Stuttgart.  
\- Between Stuttgart and the plebeian settlement is a section where upperclassmen and government officials live known as Carolingian.  
\- The rest of the area within wall Filumena is known as Dresden, it’s where you’ll find the regular people.

Filumena has a “beach” which is really a lake with a bottom layer of silt, and a small selection of local fish harvested by one-man fishing boats. I wanted the landscape of Filumena to stand out, be almost vastly different to the other walls and their cold-stone sterility.  
You might notice the use of “Carolingian”, wall Filumena’s residents are of exclusively German-descent with some families having Swedish ancestors. The food, architecture, art and styles of clothing are very heavily based on Germanic tribes’ food and art. (This will become more apparent later obviously this is just a crash-course on the AU I’ve created).

The military hierarchy is also subject to change. It generally goes:  
\- Survey Corps (scouting legion)  
\- Military Police (personal guard to the King)  
\- Garrison (Patrol and 1st responders in the event of a titan attack)  
\- Training Corps (new recruits)

I’ve added a class I call the Starszguard (above Garrison but below Military Police) who act as official envoys between the independently-ruled Filumena and Sina. Filumena’s court officials and other high-ranking government workers are selected from the Starszguard.

There isn’t really much else to note for now, when things get a little more heated I’ll probably make a Familiarize Yourself Pt.2 to establish where we are in the timeline of events. For now assume we’re in the middle of A Choice with No Regrets but way before Eren is in the picture. Enough time would have to elapse for Filumena to be lost from public memory after all (lol).  
Oddly enough I had the idea that Levi should be a criminal who became “reformed” from the first season AoT released way back when. When I’d caught on to the fact they had implemented the change in ACWNR I was like huh??? Can Isayama read my mind??? It was wild, I swear I came up with the idea first!

Anyway enjoy- got tips for world building? leave them below~


	2. Die Schwanenprinzessin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Swansilhilde is a lanky diplomat of 17 with big hopes for the future. Her greatest wish is to offer her heart to humanity- in whatever capacity she can. Tasked with a strange and daunting mission by her father King Lukas, Swansilhilde will be shipped to her home’s capital Stuttgart to preside over the court case of a “mystery criminal” from Sina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! I know I must write like a stiff old prude, I’m really sorry I don’t have a stick up my butt I promise.  
> Here’s Chapter one, a little insight into Swansilhilde’s character and her daily life. Nothing too Earth-shattering. I just realized I’ve spelled Filomena as Filumena in some places- Google Doc won’t let me get away with the alternate spelling so you’ll have to forgive me- sorry! :)
> 
> EDIT: if you want purely SNK business as usual (Erwin/hanji/ Sina/ Levi etc pls jump ahead to CHAPTER 5)
> 
> Edit 2: title translation: the swan princess

Swansilhilde was sitting in the garden in the chilly afternoon after a long day of very official-seeming business. She was wearing a heavy taffeta frock, trapped like a rat in its unforgiving metal corset. As a child she’d pled with her mother constantly to not have to wear the restricting garment, but practice had eased her burden and her body had been moulded to fit snugly in her many lavish outfits. Her eyes wandered from the little brown book, bound in leather and grasped tightly in her left hand, to the wide blue sky. Swansilhilde felt she could fall into such a cloudless, crystal clear sky the same way one divides head first into a lake of cyrillian water. She let her gaze linger over the tree tops in view, hoping to see the Survey Corps swing past on their 3DMs. Her heart hammered in her chest wildly until it rivalled the whoosh of the autumn breeze in her ears. No such luck today it seemed; with a sigh she turned instead to the wilting rose bushes. Everything seemed to be buffeted by the crisp wind, whipping the long grass around like a cat with a batting-toy. Swansilhilde had picked the last rose off the bush by the gate to the grounds. It was crimson and adorned with an unusual amount of thorns- far more than she’d ever seen a rose have in any case.

The ambiance of the deserted garden was so calming she felt as though she could have leaned up against the willow tree behind her and drifted off to sleep. She’d have dreamt of the beautiful love story she’d been reading: a handsome prince and enchanting princess, turned into swans and forced to break their curse with a delicate kiss. Ah romance, thought Swansilhilde bitterly, the joys of carnal love wouldn’t be known to her until it was time to ascend to the throne. Even then, she often wondered, what if she was so unlucky as to be wed to some prince with a terrible personality? Did she even have a “type”? These questions were a welcome distraction after the long and arduous day she’d had. A huff escaped her; she could still see all the important paperwork, disgruntled subjects, pompous tutors and overbearing government officials flashing before her eyes. It was her sacred duty as princess to take care of the people living within the walls of Filomena. It was her family’s timeless oath to shield them from the horrible creatures that wandered the wasteland beyond their kingdom, hell-bent on devouring every last living soul. Something inside her cried out suddenly, “I want to know what it’s like to fight the titans” it said. Swansilhilde beat back her morbid curiosity, trying in vain to be absorbed again by her book.  
Stranger still, a conversation she’d overheard earlier that day lingered in her mind. Some officials from Wall Sina were coming to see her father soon, and they were to bring with them unfortunate tidings and a certain strange little man. She thought she’d heard somebody mention the man was a criminal, but having been rushed off to her next meeting by her tutor and his scribe she’d missed the end of whatever the royal guards had been talking about. Her father had informed her, more or less, that the nature of the visit was some routine military police business and that she’d have to attend. Interesting she thought slyly, and a wry smile spread steadily across her face.  
Her train of thought was interrupted by the dull pitter-patter of shoes in the dirt, and from the horizon she could see three little girls barrelling towards her. Their slippers flew off their little feet as the heavy shawls they wore tore behind them like billowing flags. As usual Tanja and Ulrike led the pack, giggling wildly about something or other, as meek little Karolina brought up the rear. Swansilhilde opened her arms just in time as Tanja and Ulrike flung themselves into her lap. She lost them for a moment in the folds of her forest-green dress, before Tanja tore herself away and planted two little hands on either side of Swansilhilde’s face.  
“What are you doing out here Swansilhilde?” She asked, flashing her signature impish grin

Swansilhilde buried her hands in her little sister’s soft curly hair and gave her a hearty kiss on the cheek. “I should ask you the same thing! I hope you three didn’t shirk your tutors this afternoon, Mama will be out here any minute to give you a piece of her mind.” She scolded, although her own smiling face betrayed her serious tone

From the folds of her skirt Ulrike turned over and met eyes with her sister solemnly “Franz is ill with gripe, we don’t have to take classes until after supper.”

Swansilhilde was about to reply when Karolina caught up to them. Red-cheeked and gasping for air she pulled her shawl around her tightly and plopped onto the grass with a dull thud. “I told you to wait for me!” She whined

Tanja and Ulrike seemed to be pretending not to hear her, and Swansilhilde quickly caught Tanja and Karolina in a hug. “Oh my three beautiful girls whatever will I do with you?” She cooed

Karolina seemed to have been placated as she busied herself chattering away with Tanja about something she’d seen under a rose bush. Ulrike had seized her older sister’s book and was reading with only occasional pauses for Swansilhilde to sound out big words for her. “Car-o-lin-gian.” Swansilhilde explained, “It means German kingdom.”

Ulrike wrinkled her nose “What’s a German anyway?” She asked

Swansilhilde shrugged “I’ve read about them somewhere, it’s like a type of person, although I doubt very many would exist anymore.”

Karolina looked up from a game of patty-cake she was playing with Tanja “There are only four types of people now aren’t there? I think it’d be a waste to be from anywhere else but Filomena, though.”

Swansilhilde wanted to argue that she’d have been glad to live anywhere. Anywhere the wide open sky could be seen from all directions- anywhere the salty sea air could be breathed in with eager lungs- anywhere she could stand in the shade of the giant trees of the wasteland. Anywhere but in the sterile hallways of the castle where she lived. Indeed what was tying her to this place? What was preventing her from running off into the night like a heroine in one of her fairytale books? She’d go straight to the Survey Corps, “I want to defend humanity” she’d say. Alas her family softened her heart, and her love of civil service didn’t help fuel her wayward dreams. Proudly serving her country, Swansilhilde thought, that’s where she belonged. Although she often entertained the thought of defending her countrymen on the front lines. The war for the soul of humanity she thought dreamily, imagining herself in a pressed Survey Corps uniform, fist clenched proudly before her heart.

Ulrike broke her train of thought once more, she was holding the book above her head, clearly focused on an illustration “The beautiful princess becomes a swan.” She read promptly.

Swansilhilde ran her finger over the illustration. A beautiful blonde stood languidly by a lake bed, her hair twisting and turning like tendrils. Her expression was soft and her heavy lidded eyes made her look sleepy and aloof. Beside her was a shimmering swan bathed in moonlight. The page was faded from years of being beloved by a young Swansilhilde, running her fingers over and over the beautiful blonde girl and the passage written below.  
Tanja loomed over Ulrike, staring at the curly lettering and scowling slightly. “A beautiful princess. Always a beautiful princess.” She looked over at Swansilhilde “I like adventure stories. Mama read us Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves last night!”

Karolina shuddered “What a horrible little tale! I don’t know how you could like something so scary Tanja.” She clutched her shawl even tighter around her.

Swansilhilde blushed furiously and plucked her beloved storybook from Ulrike’s hands. She closed it with finality on her lap and purposely avoided the girls’ gaze. She’d wished as a child to be a beautiful princess, a coveted beauty like her fictional role models. In actuality Swansilhilde was rather plain-looking. Typical of a citizen of the Wall Filomena she was bow-legged, flat stomached, flat-chested and had a rather long face with a thin wide mouth and a mess of curly, often-tangled black hair. She looked like her father, she was often told, and the observation brought with it a veritable blow to her ego. Young women aren’t generally comparable to their fathers one would think. Swansilhilde had inherited both the scarecrow-like qualities of her father’s side of the family and his ferocious appetite for knowledge. While ruling with an iron fist wasn’t how she’d imagined her reign as Queen would carry on, Swansilhilde’s fierce pride at serving her countrymen had been taught to her by her like-minded and militant father. In private, though, she supposed he was usually rather jolly. Swansilhilde’s younger sisters, the triplets Tanja, Ulrike and Karolina, bore a more obvious resemblance to their mother. Round-faced, doe-eyed, with heart shaped lips and reddish hair. Their mother often joked she was fated to have had one child, who’d split it’s likeness into three separate bodies at the last minute. The triplets had more or less the same talents and interests, although Karolina was rather meeker and of a delicate constitution; Ulrike was decidedly wiser and more soft-spoken than her sisters. They moved about their daily life like a small military unit, never apart, never dressed differently, never of conflicting opinions. Spiritually, Swansilhilde thought, they were more like Siamese triplets if there ever was such a thing. Perpetually in a good mood and ever loyal to the whims of their parents, the triplets reminded Swansilhilde of herself and at the same time they seemed wildly different from her.  
As though she could read her thoughts Ulrike had rested her head on Swansilhilde’s shoulder “You see, I do look the most like Swansilhilde.” She said.

Tanja shook her head in defiance “Nu uh. I look the most like Swansilhilde.” She proclaimed.

Smiling at her sisters Swansilhilde took a tuft of Ulrike’s hair in her fingers, twirling it absentmindedly “I’m afraid you all look like me, considering the fact we’re related.”

Karolina crawled onto her lap and rested her head on Swansilhilde’s other shoulder. “I guess,” she muttered into the crook of her neck “I still think I look the most like you.”

The quartet continued their merry little argument until the wind picked up enough to be uncomfortable and the sun became shrouded in grey storm clouds. Swansilhilde could see her mother’s curvy silhouette at the entrance to the ground, waving angrily and holding up the triplets’ discarded shoes from earlier. Beside her Franz the tutor teetered from side to side, clutching what looked like a handkerchief.

**  
After some beguiling by their mother the girls were carted away to be changed for supper; Swansilhilde, sweating under the many layers of her weighty dress, saw an opportunity to escape to her room. Her lady in waiting Mia was ready with some fresh linen supper clothes, a cozy-looking house coat, and a basin of fresh water. The French doors of the bedroom had been thrown open and the chirping of birds cascaded in. The pale stones were lit up yellow by the sunset, and the smell of something sweet was drifting in with the breeze.

“I thought you might like to change before dinner.” Mia said softly

Swansilhilde immediately ran over to the basin and began washing her face and hands. “You know me,” she chuckled “Would you heat my bed for me tonight? It’s getting awfully chilly.” She added  
Mia got to work peeling Swansilhilde’s frock off her “I thought you might say that too. I already sent Lena to fetch me some coals. The winter seemed to be rolling in earlier every year.” Mia’s voice had a touch of disappointment in it.

While Mia folded up the used frock, Swansilhilde returned to the shiny silver basin and began washing her arms. Damp from the water and covered in goosebumps from the breeze, Swansilhilde thought she must have looked like a common village girl. She certainly smelled like one, the smell of the fall air and the dead leaves mingled with her sweat and wafted up into her nostrils. She felt oddly cozy.  
Grabbing the accompanying silver pitcher she poured herself a fresh basin of water. Turning to Mia but not meeting her gaze she took a steadying breath “How is your brother, Mia?” She asked.

Mia seemed to be thinking hard about her answer, and Swansilhilde thought she saw her eyes glossing over with a tear or two. Mia quickly ducked behind her and began to adjust Swansilhilde’s corset.

“He’s fine,” came the innocuous reply “He’ll depart again with the Survey Corps when the first snow falls. Our combined wages are what’s keeping a roof over my aging mother’s house, and I’m eternally grateful to you.” Swansilhilde gasped as Mia tugged rather unforgivingly at a certain button.

“He’s still with them then?” She asked, trying not to sound like she was prying.

Mia’s brother Victor had lost an eye in the Survey Corps the year prior. He’d been maimed when his equipment had failed him, and had extensive damage done to the limbs on his left side. Mia had left for a week to visit him, and when she’d returned her girlish face had aged as if over night. Her once cheery blue eyes had become downcast and stormy, and she’d resorted to taking certain tinctures and herbs at night to help her sleep. Swansilhilde had increased her wages and begged Mia to convince her brother to retire, but due to the lofty debt owed by their aging parents they’d had no such luck. “It was all for naught,” her father had once explained to a crying Swansilhilde “Once you join the Survey Corps one must serve until one dies. This is the law in Filomena and Sina. Offer your heart to humanity.”

Mia hadn’t answered. Swansilhilde at once felt stupid to even suggest Victor could have given up his occupation. She was so happy Mia couldn’t see the furious bright red burn making its way up her face she actually thanked God.  
When Swansilhilde was finally dressed Mia gathered up the basin, and with the other two ladies in waiting in tow, she bowed graciously to Swansilhilde. The enameled doors closed with an echoing clack and Swansilhilde could do nothing but stare stupidly at their curly golden handles. She walked over to her window and closed the glass doors, fastening the silver curtains firmly in place. She’d noticed her brown book had been placed gingerly on the cushioned window sill. Mia must have thought she’d want to read more, perched by the window like a little bird the way she often was. Turning the book over and over in her hands, Swansilhilde tossed it unceremoniously onto her plush bed and resolved to go to dinner.

Dinner was mundane enough. Her sisters complained in hushed voices about all the catching up they’d have to do on their lessons once Franz was feeling better. Their piano tutor stood sentry at the far end of the room, ready to usher them into her chambers as soon as the last course was done. The King and Queen sat at opposite ends of the table, throwing each other the usual knowing, almost conspiratorial glances every now and again when the triplets would grow rowdier; Swansilhilde sat with her back to the window, lost in a day dream about the day that would follow. She could only assume all the important work she’d been involved in had something to do with the visitors from Sina. Accustomed to the daily ins and outs of politics, it was rare she’d receive news from the military front. She wondered sometimes if her father’s plans were to shield her from details about the war until she became queen. In the same vein, she strongly believed he wouldn’t have been so delicate if his heir had been a son. Her soup suddenly tasted more bitter than she’d remembered it tasting a moment ago; she had to fight herself not to throw an unsavoury glance in her father’s direction.

Swansilhilde had elected to skip dessert: some kind of trifle with custard cream, in favour of retiring early. Her sisters had insisted on giving her several hugs before being carted off by their mother in her flowing ruby housecoat. Swansilhilde remembered how she’d sit underneath her mother’s reading chair in the study as a child, pretending the flowing house coat was a veil between her world and the next. “Don’t wander too far my Swan.” He mother would warn jokingly as Swansilhilde played pinnacle at her mother’s feet.

Trudging upstairs accompanied by Lena and her candelabra, Swansilhilde’s eyelids seemed to droop more and more until she had to force her eyes to snap open at the right time- lest she take a tumble down the stairs. Upon opening the door she found a surly lady warming her sheets with a tin contraption containing coals; Mia stood at the foot of her bed holding small candlestick and a pair of moccasin slippers. 

“My Lady,” she began, smiling gently “Your father has requested your urgent summons.” She bowed daintily and gestured with her arm back out into the hallway.

Swansilhilde changed her little shoes for the slippers and plucked a heavy winter-time shawl to wrap around herself from her drawers. Her father’s study was always freezing; it felt like he’d converted a corner of the castle into an eternal winter wonderland. Before she left she threw a bemused look at her mother’s little dog Zelma, who had made herself very comfortable at the foot of Swansilhilde’s bed. The golden Pomeranian opened one round black eye to throw the surly maid an annoyed look, and then with a snort that was closer to a honk she rolled over and went back to sleep.  
Swansilhilde gave Zelma a hearty pat and with a sigh she composed herself for the walk to the other end of the estate.

Mia led Swansilhilde to her father’s study, and after knocking politely, she handed her glowing candle in its small brass holder to her Lady and vanished into the shadowy castle hallway.  
Swansilhilde walked in and found King Lukas stooped over his desk full of loose papers. A quill had been thrown in a corner and was steadily seeping ink, a dictionary lay face up collecting a thin layer of dust, and a royal decree was ran through with a silver dagger- seemingly to keep it in place as the wind buffeted it. Swansilhilde’s body betrayed her with a shudder. Her father’s windows were thrown open, their curtains long since removed to be uninhibiting, and she could see the hunting dogs and their Master roaming the empty field behind the castle. Her heart leapt a little when she looked over to the heavy gate that fenced off the kennel. It met with the fields outside the castle, before the Capital’s winding brick roads began. Curly vines seemed to be snaking their way in amid some foliage.  
Swansilhilde thought she saw a Corporal propelling off the side of the wrought iron; she shifted to get a better view, but her father suddenly stood up.  
King Lukas was a hulking, greying, bearded and husky man. His weathered silver crown drooped down over one bushy white eyebrow, and his tanned skin was greatly contrasted by his pale green eyes. These were the eyes Swansilhilde shared with him: striking, emerald and so round as to look constantly vigilant. Sometimes when she peered into them long enough Swansilhilde felt as though she was gazing at herself in the body of an old man- as if through the trickery of a fun-house mirror.

“The hunt is nearly upon us,” he sighed suddenly, going over to the open window. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned out to get a better view of the dogs.

Swansilhilde could hear the bloodhounds barking. She could hear their Master shouting commands and rounding up the slobbering beasts like cattle. They slinked in zig zag patterns through the grass, looking like great long shadows under the overcast sky. The hunt would begin before the first snow. Filomena was blessed with many rolling green pastures, and at the height of their mating season wild snow-white hares could be found gliding like little clouds between the lush grassy knolls. Her father’s scholars swore hunting them was some kind of ancient tradition, although Swansilhilde wasn’t ready to forgive the ravenous hounds and their too-eager Masters who engaged in the blood sport.

Her father must have sensed her apprehension, because with another sigh he walked over to her and clasped her slender hands in his calloused grip.

“My darling Princess,” he began as he often did “I’ve received correspondence from Sina. I thought we might be able to skip over all this unpleasant business with their Survey Corps but I’m afraid that scoundrel Commander Smith has weaseled out of every road block I’ve sent his way.”

Swansilhilde lay a hand on her father’s wrinkled face, “Oh Papa, I don’t think whatever it is will be dragged out, I’m sure their visit will be brief.”

Luka’s tone suddenly darkened “I don’t believe it will be. Our Survey Corps has acted independently under Filomena’s royal family for years. I’ve had to fight hard and long to keep it that way; I’ve been able to avoid the red tape from the capital until that damned Commander Smith character appeared.” Swansilhilde straightened his crown and moved a lock of greying black hair away from his eyes. He waited for her to be done and continued “I’m sending you tomorrow to prepare the courthouse, the nature of Sina’s letter is...vague. They seem to have some kind of criminal in tow- something about the courts being backed up on their end, although I suspect it’s a lie. They want to get into Filomena for some reason- probably trying to do it without seeming too suspicious.”  
He furrowed his brow, and after giving his daughter’s hand a gentle squeeze he turned away.

“I’m meeting with Commander Leon Jorg tomorrow, and Lance Corporal Gerhard Eleazer to straighten this ‘mystery criminal’ business out on our end. Once I’ve familiarized myself with the details I think I may finally be able to sleep soundly once again.” He let out a bark of laughter “Take Mia with you to the Capital Building tomorrow. I’ll send along Mister Gressler in any case, he usually accompanies me to greet the high court. I imagine it’ll alleviate some of your burden.”  
King Luka rifled through his desk drawers rather unceremoniously before producing several scrolls with the royal seal. Swansilhilde gathered them up in her arms and tucked a dainty-looking envelope with the family crest in wax under her arm.  
Exchanging a brief goodnight Swansilhilde took one last peek at her father, busy angrily scribbling something out on a piece of parchment, and closed the door behind her.  
“Commander Smith.” She muttered to herself when she’d arrived back at her room. She put the paperwork on her writing desk in the adjacent study and opened her window a crack. The drawn-out howl of a hound could be heard afar off as she sat beside Zelma scowling at the floor. “I’ll have to ask Mister Gressler about him.” She muttered to herself.


	3. Katz Und Maus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swansilhilde is led to the Capital of Stuttgart amid a vicious circulation of terrifying rumours. The citizens of Filomena seem to be convinced Wall Sina fully intends (and is just about to) feed them all to blood-thirsty titans. Her search for answers is providing fruitless, and the appearance of a player in the criminal underworld has done nothing but add to Swansilhilde’s stress.  
> In any case the pair seem to be anxiously awaiting the arrival of a certain meddlesome blonde Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so freakin fun coming up with catty insults for Gressler to call Erwin Smith ;v;  
> “Golden retriever” and “meddlesome blonde” are my favourite.
> 
> Also fixed the Filumena/Filomena thing phew~
> 
> EDIT: if you want purely SNK business as usual (Erwin/hanji/ Sina/ Levi etc pls jump ahead to CHAPTER 5)
> 
> Edit 2: title translation: cat and mouse

Swansilhilde was awoken the next morning at dawn by a surly-looking Greta. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, it’s orange glow illuminating Greta’s greasy blonde hair; giving her the appearance that her head had been set ablaze. Greta had been Swansilhilde’s childhood nurse, before the arrival of the always-gracious and well-meaning Mia in her late teens. Prying Swansilhilde roughly out of bed in true Greta fashion, she’d already tasked a small herd of scullery maids with straightening up the room.

Swansilhilde’s eyes not yet fully open, her head lolled forwards with sleepiness, but she allowed herself to be laced up in an unforgiving corset. Greta had chosen simple, cream-coloured robes with a high neckline and an obnoxiously large emerald broach. Layering some knitted shawls over her shoulders for good measure, Greta stepped back and admired Swansilhilde with an air of intense happiness. She must have been pleased with herself, Swansilhilde thought, after all she’d always dressed her Lady in the kind of outfits she’d want to be wearing as a royal.  
Swansilhilde supposed this was one of Greta’s many “charms.”

The maids had drawn fresh water in a silver tub, opened up the windows and blinds, shooed Zelma from her spot at the foot of the bed, and were now busily dusting under Greta’s stern watch. Swansilhilde’s hair was being pulled tightly into a silvery net, a few thick tresses trailing behind. The wild curling of her hair must have proved hard for Greta to handle as she twisted and pulled and grunted incessantly. Finally having had enough she let the tresses fall where they may and adorned Swansilhilde with a tiara reserved for trips to the capital. Winding bejewelled vines curled inwards and outwards, ending in a dainty round diamond extending a half inch from Swansilhilde’s hairline.

The sun was now high in the sky; it’s rays shone fiercely on the white castle, warming it’s interior until Swansilhilde had to shed a few layers of shawls. It looked like it would be a fairly pleasant day over all, if not for the confusing and cryptic nature of her visit to the Capital City of Stuttgart. Swansilhilde’s breakfast was short and light, and lost in thought she hadn’t noticed Greta chattering away in one ear about something or other. Her thick eyebrows were stitched together in concern, and her lips were pressed in a tight line. Swansilhilde almost dropped her spoonful of porridge as something occurred to her, and she cut Greta off from whatever she had been complaining about.

“Pray, where is Mia? My father said I was to take her with me to the Capital.”

Greta seemed annoyed her concerns hadn’t been acknowledged, but with a sigh she replied “Mia will be waiting for you in the carriage. Mister Gressler will be meeting the two of you at the Capital, as he had other matters to attend to this morning.”

Swansilhilde hid her gaze from Greta, her eyes narrowed and she was laser-focused on her bowl of lumpy porridge. She wondered if the strange turn the events involving Filomena had taken were at all caused by the trifling Mister Gressler. As slippery, slimey and conniving as they came, Swansilhilde had always wondered what the appeal of keeping a treacherous louse like him around was.

Greta was fired up again, smoothing the table cloth with a harshness Swansilhilde feared might tear the fabric, she was talking incessantly in a grumbling whisper. “I’d keep an eye on those officials down in the council I would. I’ve heard a strange kind of murmuring in Stuttgart during my last visit. Strange rumours- everybody riled from here to Dresden. Things are going to take a turn soon, remain ever-vigilant Princess.” Greta’s eyes were gleaming anxiously.

Swansilhilde managed a smile, although it felt more like a grimace. She nodded solemnly and abandoned her porridge with pout.

“It’s all so strange isn’t it Greta?” She began pensively “I don’t believe the men from Sina will be here very long in any case. This business about rumours is sensationalism if I’ve ever heard it.” She met Greta’s fiery gaze “In any case I wouldn’t let it worry me.”

Greta seemed dissatisfied with this answer, but cleared away Swansilhilde’s silverware quietly enough. She seemed to have been subdued, at least, by Swansilhilde’s words of encouragement. Swansilhilde’s head was swimming with questions, she’d done a good job so far of hiding her own anxieties from the prying eyes of her ladies-in-waiting. She wagered Mister Gressler would be able to see through her calm facade easy enough, and was sure she’d have to be very quick on her feet to avoid the sarcastic nature of the way he’d pry. He’ll pry and pry, she thought huffily He’ll pry until every set of lips in this country is loose.

Lotte, a new hire who had been tasked with polishing Swansilhilde’s shoes, came trotting into the dining room. Greta had emerged from the adjacent room and met her halfway, snatching King Lukas’s paperwork from her and setting it before Swansilhilde. Swansilhilde had already taken the liberty of keeping the envelope with the family seal close at hand, and had it tucked away under her shawl. Gathering up her supplies Swansilhilde strode out of the dining room flanked by little Lotte and the robust Greta.

The weather outside was pleasant, and Swansilhilde plead for what seemed like ages to be spared from having to put on an autumn coat and gloves. She’d called it “all very unnecessary” and was glad when the feather coat had been packed away instead. The large enamelled carriage was towed by two impressive-looking horses; led into the carriage by a footman she caught a glimpse of Lotte talking excitedly to the chauffeur.

Swansilhilde was relieved to see Mia, sitting curtly across the carriage from her. She had a baby-blue fur muff and a matching bonnet on. She was wearing a simple white and blue coat, and black lace-up boots typical of a maid. Her black hair had been gelled back to expose her large forehead, and her feet dangled off the side of her seat. “Good morning Princess,” she began cheerily.

Swansilhilde at once felt herself relax in Mia’s presence “Good morning Mia,” she began as the footman closed the door behind her. “Open the carriage curtains won’t you?” 

The heavy red curtains were rolled up, and the sunlight illuminated the crimson upholstery that would be their corner of the world for the day. On the carriage ceiling a detailed fresco had been painted, it depicted a small monk with a shorn head, reading solemnly from some kind of book. A small man in a red tunic stood at his left- perhaps a child noted Swansilhilde; a man in a flowing golden robe, thrown over one shoulder, kneeled at his left. He was pointing meaningfully at the book the monk was reading. It was quite colourful, although Swansilhilde was having a hard time craning her neck to see it’s details. She was focused on the three doves flying low to the ground behind the monk, and the bright pink pomegranate seemingly cast half heartedly onto the floor, when Mia cleared her throat suddenly.

“I’ve received word we are to meet Mister Gressler in the Parliament Building. He’ll convene with us before we meet with the court officials. Sina’s envoy won’t be here until mid afternoon according to the Starszguard, they sent word this morning.”

Swansilhilde’s brows furrowed in confusion “Who will meet us then, at the Parliament Building?”

Mia was looking out the window, she seemed to be fixed on a far-away point “We’ll be meeting with the High Court to discuss their official plan of action. Mister Gressler is coming on the behest of your father. He’s sent him to account for the budgeting of hosting the men from Sina until such a time that the trial has ended.”

“That prisoner of theirs must be causing a delay,” Swansilhilde thought aloud “No doubt transporting the extra men across the tunnels will put a strain on their travel time. I looked over the paperwork I was given, however briefly, it truly does speak to a case of prison overcrowding in Sina. If our court can come to a decision on their behalf this whole affair will be over soon.”

The air was heavy with the words Swansilhilde hadn’t said; a sense of unease lingered in the air. Neither girl said anything for a while, although Mia’s hands had come out of the muff and where fiddling with a loose thread, she was clearly agitated. “Princess,” she began, still averting her gaze “A strange assortment of rumours have begun to spread in the castle. Lotte, brought to us from Dresden, speaks of a civil unrest among her people. Stories of oncoming doom- death by titans,” her voice was now barely a whisper “I brought dinner to Bjorn the marksman last night, and he was talking in hurried whispers with a member of the Military Police. They have reason to believe Sina will use the tunnels to invade Filomena. They’ll turn the titans loose on us, they’ll hunt us into extinction.”

These last words made Swansilhilde’s skin erupt with goosebumps; she was glad to be wearing so many protective layers so as to hide them from Mia.

“Rumours are to the common enemy as fools’ gold is to the poor man,” Swansilhilde sighed, she allowed herself to rest easy against the taffeta pillow of her seat “We have no reason to suspect Sina would want to take control of Filomena. And in any case who could ordain to know what the titans are thinking? It’d take a better man than you or I to control the whims of those man-eating beasts.” Swansilhilde’s tone was confident, but she was trying to bury the nagging suspicion that whoever had started spreading these rumours had done so as a warning.

Mia seemed to have been imbued with a new sense of assurance, as she let out a shaky breath and relaxed her shoulders. Swansilhilde kept an eye on her for signs that she might start talking once again about the nefarious plots of perceived enemies, but Mia seemed focused on the window. They watched their path twist, wind, turn and loop around into the familiar cobblestone road to the Capital.  
The carriage occasionally lurched as the gilded wheels got stuck between the stones, but the steady pounding of horse hooves had began to lull Swansilhilde into a state of sleepiness.

She’d thought her eyes had only been closed for a moment, but when she pried them open to peer out the window again she was looking at robust architecture and bustling streets.  
Horses, carriages, carts, buggies and people were scurrying about in the noisy Capital. The city was alive with the singing of birds, the hissing of steam, the patter of feet and the merchants calling out to passersby. The city was crisp and sterile, great stone monuments and statues decorated public spaces. The buildings shared the same dome architecture, built entirely out of alternating pale and white stones. Archways were gilded in forest green, blue and gold; windows had vibrant hand-painted shutters; the autumn wind sent newspapers and hats flying occasionally by the carriage window. The epicentre of productivity was lit up by the strong unyielding sun, and the streets were a glow with a halo of bright light.  
Swansilhilde drew the carriage curtain in embarrassment when they passed an impressive looking statue titled “The Goddess of Victory”. It was Swansilhilde with a great pair of wings and a flowing Greek-looking garment. One hand clutched a hardcover book and one was extended outwards in a salute. They’d taken some liberties with the size of her bust, Swansilhilde noticed with a grimace, and she wasn’t so keen on taking a tour of the various flowery monuments to the royal family.  
It seemed like an unnecessary waste of money in her opinion.

Finally coming to a halt, Mia exited first, opening the door for Swansilhilde and exchanging brief words with the chauffeur. She was pointing to where their trunks would have to be brought, but Swansilhilde’s focus had shifted elsewhere. Coming out of the building where the High Court presided, a man in a smart brown suit was sauntering down the stairs. His golden blonde hair had been pulled back to reveal his handsome face, and in one hand adorned with rings of different sizes he clutched an alabaster cane with a bright green bauble. His pale skin and sharp features gave him the air of a cartoonish villain from a children’s book, and his immense confidence and cheeky demeanour lent themselves to the illusion.  
“Gressler.” Muttered Swansilhilde.

Pretending not to have noticed him, Swansilhilde was led out of the carriage by the footman and allowed herself to land gingerly on the stone street like a lithe cat. She made a big show of nodding curtly to Mia and accepting her outstretched hand, going to great lengths to look grown-up and refined. 

Soon enough the villain was upon them, and Mister Gressler removed his camel-coloured hat and bowed in a languid motion. “Princess.” He greeted her, in a fake-kind voice that was almost as fake as Swansilhilde’s sudden interest in acting demure. “It is my great honour to welcome you to Stuttgart today. I received word from your father you’d be joining us on official business today,” his green eyes twinkled dangerously “I was simply overjoyed to hear you’d be coming in his stead.”

Sure you are thought Swansilhilde, groaning internally when she noticed the star-struck look Mia was giving him.

“Indeed,” she managed “I’m glad to have you along Mister Gressler. I hope you’ll entertain the questions I have once we’ve entered the High Court’s chambers, away from prying eyes.” She added in a low voice.

Noticing the footman lingering suspiciously close Mister Gressler cleared his throat and smiled widely. He gingerly shook Mia’s hand, and the Princess and her lady-in-waiting allowed themselves to be escorted into the building.

The building was barren as usual. Once the heavy doors had been shut by the Garrison outside, the capital’s industrious sounds were cut off immediately. Swansilhilde could only hear the clack of their footprints on the marble floor. A great staircase was before them, and a little room sat off to the side. It seemed like a parlour frozen in time, it was so dark it was impossible to tell the size of the room. Swansilhilde supposed nobody seldom entered after all. There was more negative space than anybody could have hoped for, and even the silky curtains on the massive windows had been drawn tightly to block out the outside world. Swansilhilde rested her hand on the stairway’s railing; it was cold, sculpted elegantly and too broad for her small hand. A smattering of tall gilded vases stood sentry in the open area, housing blood-red roses and a handful of baby’s breath.  
Mister Gressler led the duo up the stairs to a carpeted hallway. The windows here were shut, but their curtains had been allowed to remain open. Floor-to-ceiling white doors shut off several rooms from view, and Swansilhilde shifted eagerly on the crimson carpeting. Two fancy but uncomfortable looking armchairs had been placed to one side, Mister Gressler gestured to them. 

“We’ve been instructed to wait here I’m afraid,” he gave Mia a sympathetic look. Swansilhilde could sense it took Mister Gressler great energy to feign genuine concern on that level, “As for our darling Miss Mia, the Garrison will be along shortly to escort you to a furnished waiting room. I’ve had tea set out for you- and I hope you like biscuits.”  
As if on cue the muffled sound of footsteps could be heard and a trio of polished looking Garrison soldiers were along to escort Mia further along the hallway.  
One stayed behind, she had a face full of freckles and a thick brown braid trailing behind her, Swansilhilde thought she looked rather like a show horse. She saluted curtly “The High Court will be along shortly, they send their highest regard to our most resplendent Princess,” she bowed, although she seemed a little stiff “I will be along to collect you when it is time.” With another awkward bow she slunk away back down the stairs.

Swansilhilde collapsed into the uncomfortable armchair, she felt around quickly for the envelope she had been hiding under her many layers of clothes. She hadn’t gotten around to reading it, it had come with instructions to be handed off to Mister Gressler himself. She longed to know what was written within.

“Strange isn’t it,” began the weasel himself “King Lukas has the authority to jump right over all these formalities. I must say I was quite disappointed when I heard he wouldn’t be here,” he managed a frown, genuine this time “Usually we stride right in- regardless of whether or not the High Court is ‘ready’.” He leaned on his alabaster cane and eyed Swansilhilde curiously. She thought he looked rather like a cat eyeing a helpless mouse.

“Indeed.” She said flatly “I was hoping you could tell me why my father would have sent you at all.” She was now staring defiantly back at him.

“My, my,” Mister Gressler said, his smile only grew wider and more taunting “I’m sure you’ve heard by now your father has a tendency to take me wherever he is needed on official business. I’m something like an advisor by proxy: balancing the budget, seeking out legal loopholes, punishing the wicked in Dresden, and so on.”

Swansilhilde thought this was as good a time as any, “What do you make of this then?” Her voice was barely more than a murmur.

Mister Gressler obviously hadn’t expected this question and tripped himself up slightly on his cane. His eyes turned steely and he seemed to be thinking hard about something. He licked his lips “Hard to tell my Princess,” he murmured back “That meddlesome blonde Commander Smith and his peddling bunch of bloodhounds from Sina seemed quite adamant about appearing here today. Back in Dresden a strange rumour is floating around- that Filomena is next on Sina’s list of conquests. I doubt it, I trust the hunches of King Lukas, and I’ll only have an opinion once the man himself has spoken with that irksome golden retriever Smith.” He scowled “Which brings me again to my original question: why has he sent our most darling Princess here to tend to such a lowly matter as a foreign criminal?” His prying eyes fell on Swansilhilde again and she blushed furiously.

Mister Gressler made a clicking noise with his tongue and averted his gaze.

“Your days spent in Dresden seem to drag on longer than ever,” Swansilhilde said slyly “I’d count those nine lives of yours, you catty government official. When I become Queen there won’t be a citizen left in Filomena willing to hide you.”

Mister Gressler seemed highly amused, he brandished his cane “Oh now that does sound like a delightful sort of game, Princess.”

Swansilhilde’s hunch Mister Gressler was up to no good had long kept her awake at night through the years. She’d come to know, thanks to some late-night eavesdropping and the loose lips of Lotte the new hire from Dresden, that Mister Gressler was something of a legend in the criminal underworld. Perhaps he’d been small potatoes, so to speak, at one point or another but his antics saw him away from the Capital for longer stretches of time these days. The plebeian settlement of Dresden was a crowded metropolis-like township where the simple folk of Filomena lived. Their criminal gangs had disappeared virtually overnight, and the number of arrests or downright disappearances of unruly gang leaders seemed to coincide with the absence of Mister Gressler at the capital. Swansilhilde couldn’t fathom why her father would keep a nosy, dishonest, philandering ladies-man like Ivan Gressler around. She had her beliefs about what he’d gotten up to, and although she only had rumours of his treacherous exploits to go off of, she was sure to do away with him when it came time to take the throne.

The great doors in front of the pair swung open suddenly, and an elderly butler accompanied by two men in Military Police uniforms appeared.  
“The High Court is prepared to convene.” The butler said curtly.

Swansilhilde could feel Mister Gressler’s eyes on her, and pretending not to have noticed him yet again, she rose and followed the trio into a similar window-laden hallway.


	4. Sturm Und Drang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swansilhilde’s long awaited meeting with the High Court of Filomena is finally upon her. The cryptic warnings continue to increase in number as she battles to hold the fate of the mysterious Levi in her hands. With a very conniving Mister Gressler in tow, secrets, betrayal and underhanded characters are abound in the capital. Civil unrest looms heavy on the Royal Family, and a secret meeting between Swansilhilde and a rogue government official points towards a grim future for Wall Filomena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things, ERWIN IS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! If you want purely established SNK characters, I would start from the next chapter onwards. I’ll add a warning to the previous chapters as well since I have an idea more or less of where we are. I think there’ll only be like 3 chapters left in Filomena before it’s 100% Sina based business as usual with Levi’s whole squad plus Commander Handsome, Hanji and the gang.
> 
> Couple of things- Mia is the most sapphic character I’ve ever written. As a huge homo myself I may have gotten carried away AND Gressler I picture to be a bisexual goblin running amock in Filomena. Just pure chaotic neutral, unbridled nonesense 100% of the time.
> 
> Finally AO3 is doing something weird to my formatting? I keep losing my indents and stuff if anybody can help pls let me know.
> 
> Edit: title translation storm and rain

The room Swansilhilde was in seemed to have functioned as a tactician’s office at one point. There was a large oak table with several little figurines and flags littering its surface. A fireplace crackled along the smooth light-green wall; the shades were drawn over the room’s only window. It was stuffy and cramped; as the heat continued to build Swansilhilde wondered if the High Court intended to have her go mad in the stifling little room. Six beautifully upholstered chairs had been set in a semi circle around the oval table, a table runner with shiny tassels had been laid across in haste. Behind an uncomfortable-looking Mister Gressler (who had hidden himself just out of view in the shadows of the mantle) a large oil painting hung. A single vase with wilting lilies sat beneath it.  
The painting depicted a revolution: many people crammed into the frame, a flag flying high over the crowd, a horse up on its hind legs. The sky in the picture was overcast; the painter had utilized the darkest, most rich colours they could find. It was a very eerie painting indeed.

“They really do seem to be taking advantage of King Lukas’s absence,” Mister Gressler had noted on the way in. They had kept a few paces behind the Military Police escort, muttering to each other as though they were in on a conspiracy. “It’s never taken this long before, they’re uncharacteristically keen on the theatrics.”

Swansilhilde had to agree.

But at last, filing in quietly into the long and narrow room, the five judges of the High Council appeared. They were all wearing matching purple robes, donning matching tassels, and a white chiffon cravat typical of court representatives. The final sixth seat, usually occupied for the King, was reserved instead for Swansilhilde today.

She was sitting ram-rod straight, her back stiff from the effort. Her arm was clenched firmly to keep the envelope from slipping out of its hiding place. One hand was hidden under the table, holding together her shawls like she was a swaddled baby.  
The representatives bowed, and after a few shook hands briefly with Mister Gressler, they settled in around Swansilhilde. She had the impression she had been set upon by a flock of vultures. The wrinkled faces and beady eyes of the aging High Court officials were zeroing in on her. Mister Gressler unrolled the various parchments they’d brought with them with a flourish and his usual cheeky grin. Waving his bone-white cane, and lavishing in the small amount of attention he was receiving from his audience, he set upon displaying the papers from King Lukas’s study.  
“We’re very pleased to see you again Mister Gressler,” said the most wrinkled of the bunch “I take it you’re here to oversee the budget for our end of Sina’s expedition?”

Mister Gressler had floated behind Swansilhilde’s chair, one hand curled like a talon on his cane. “Indeed, interesting that you’d use the word ‘expedition’, Justice.”

The wrinkled man adjusted his round glasses, clearly none too pleased with Gressler’s almost joking tone. “Well their envoy was expedited to us as it were.”

Mister Gressler at once let out a bark of laughter. That was just like him, thought Swansilhilde irritably, being unable to resist the urge to stir the pot. Lucky for him he was half decent at smoothing things over with his fake-coy demeanour.

Justice Schmitt, the bespectacled old man, was diligently scanning the documents they’d brought. By his side were the usual Justice Krause, Justice Fuchs, Justice Ziegler and Justice Gaetner. All had been appointed by Swansilhilde’s father following wildly successful careers in the Starszguard.  
Justice Schmitt had at one point been a Captain in the Survey Corps of Wall Filomena, and was all but begged to join the High Court when the previous Justice Wolff had died of a grievous injury. Already moulded by the sands of time, and ripe with life experience, Schmitt had seemed like the most logical choice to a young King Lukas. Schmitt was frail-looking and lanky, with spindly hands and a large beak-like nose. His eyes, like two glittering black orbs behind his glasses, reminded Swansilhilde of a crow. He was the undisputed ring leader of the bunch.  
Justice Krause was fairly young as far as High Court appointees went, middle-aged, level-headed, with a mop of fiery red hair. Justice Fuchs, battle-hardened from years of service, bore the scars of a working man. He was a hulking grey haired giant who wore entirely too many bronze rings. Justice Ziegler, the only woman of the bunch, was a mild-mannered but stern woman who was slowly but surely going blind. Justice Gaetner was a conniving old man with an odd demeanour. Many described him as off-putting, and his shaggy unkempt appearance made him seem like a wild animal.

Princess Swansilhilde’s eyes had been trained on the painted horse above the mantle. She could tell Mister Gressler was staring intently at the back of her head. She could hear his quill scribbling about as he pretended to balance the budget. He’d already done it on the way in, as he usually did, and was now playing the role of a concerned accountant in an effort to eavesdrop.  
The conversation turned idle, the scrolls were disregarded, and Swansilhilde saw her opportunity to pounce.

Puffing out her chest like she’d seen her father do countless times she rose with a grating screech of her chair and stood with squared shoulders. The anxieties she’d felt on the way in suddenly melted away; the familiar pride she felt when addressing crowds washed over her at once.

“It has come to our attention that Sina’s King Fritz is sending a small envoy of Survey Corps soldiers along with a prisoner. While the details of the prisoner’s situation are vague, it seems Sina has been met with a spot of prison overcrowding.” She gestured confidently to the scroll that had the recorded numbers of Sina’s prison population. “It would be in our best interest to pass judgement on the criminal until such a time as the court becomes occupied.”

“While the court acknowledges it is free to take on a new charge,” Justice Ziegler began, moving a strand of sandy blonde hair out of her face “The official request for the transfer of a single prisoner was made by one Commander Erwin Smith.”  
Justice Gaetner was shaking with anticipation, and seized the opportunity to interject “It needs be remarked that this Commander Smith hasn’t arrived for his morning appointment. Sina’s leaders are continuously delaying their arrival at our expense- and now they’ve sent along a measly few Survey Corps soldiers.”

Swansilhilde’s mind was racing, she was working hard not to let her surprise betray her. It seemed the High Court was in possession of knowledge she wasn’t privy to; having her father’s wish of a quick and easy affair seen to would take more convincing than she’d ever done on her own.

“Filomena has always operated independently,” said Justice Schmitt “We see no reason to indulge the whims of King Fritz by any means.”

Justice Gaetner looked delighted suddenly and jabbed his boney finger into the air “Indeed! This Commander has muscled his way into the tunnels connecting Filomena with a great haste. They should be refused- this is practically a deceleration of war to storm our sacred kingdom like they’ve done.”

The other justices were murmuring their agreement, and Gaetner along with Schmitt were looking more and more pleased with themselves by the second. Swansilhilde’s father had once told her debating the High Court was very much “like fighting a beast with five heads”, she finally understood why.

“A deceleration of war it is not,” she interjected quickly, fearing things would take a turn for the worst “It is our sacred duty to uphold order throughout Paradis Island. We have a sworn oath to the Eldian people to provide aid wherever possible- just as I’m sure Sina would provide for us in our time of need.”

Schmitt’s hands were folded together on the table “Would Sina truly help us, do you think?” An uneasy hush had fallen over the room “If we were to arrive- practically demand- to haul our prisoners into their walls do you think they’d oblige us? Filomena is the smallest wall, housing the smallest nation in Paradis Island. We have no contact to Rose, nor to Maria- without considerable difficulty and the continued support of Sina.”

Justice Krause stifled a yawn and in his usual disinterest tone offered “It would be easy for Sina to overtake us.”

“A strange wash of rumours is circulating in the Capital and beyond,” murmured a solemn Schmitt “Suppose King Fritz was using this trial as a test.”

“We’ve already let ‘im come this far,” boomed Justice Fuchs “This newly appointed Captain o’his seems awfully keen on making a name for himself. Back in the Garrison you’d sell yer own brother out to make the cut into the Starszguard- how is this any different?”

The room murmured in agreement once more. Swansilhilde set her fist on the table, and a hush descended on them again.

“Filomena will not be absorbed into Sina. The tunnels are easily collapsible; King Fritz would have to tear down the walls dividing Sina himself, exposing his people to the elements and the titans alike. Why let yourself be riled by a single Captain? A fresh face among the Survey Corps?”

Schmitt seemed embarrassed and noisily cleared his throat “King Fritz could halt our supplies, our economy would crumble. We need the outside world. We’d have only the sea as a resource- it’s unthinkable we’d last very long at all.”

“Have you been given any indication other than mere rumours that Sina would be planning a siege against us then?” Swansilhilde asked angrily.

More silence followed, she could hear Mister Gressler snicker behind her.

“In that case, I’d like to direct the council’s attention to the matter at hand: we have no identification of who this prisoner is.”

Justice Krause gingerly plucked a parchment from the table, “He would appear to be a common street thug- an even stranger pick for Commander Smith to send to us. I’ve heard him described as a ‘pragmatically selfless’ character by his superiors, although I doubt he’d be the type to waste time on petty criminals.”

Swansilhilde was once again caught in a conversation where she only had half the facts. It was like trying to piece together a puzzle while somebody routinely plucked pieces right out from under your nose.

“He’s an underground thug who’s been using ODM Gear,” came a sudden interjection from behind Swansilhilde. Mister Gressler’s eyes were twinkling excitedly “Our very prolific guest has violated one of Sina’s core laws. Regarding the ODM Gear there can be no substitutions, no theft, and first and foremost no violation of the ODM Code of Conduct. A simpleton running amuck in the underground with military property? A grievous offence indeed.”

Justice Krause turned to Swansilhilde “Did you have information on the prisoner you withheld from the court, Princess?” He asked calmly.

“I’m afraid,” Mister Gressler admitted shyly “I was simply too overcome with excitement to allow these proceedings to go on uninterrupted any longer. This morning I received a certain hand written letter by one Captain Smith- commending me for my role as accountant to the Court of course.” His usual wicked smile had returned “Enclosed therein were the original documents from one Mister Levi’s arrest.”

Swansilhilde turned briefly, gazing into Gressler’s eyes for a moment with a softened expression. ‘Thank you for saving me’ she was trying to say.

“The Commander is put in charge of crimes involving constitutional violations in the military- this explains his presence here. Filomena has a vast and well-oiled court system, I can understand his desire to bring Mister Levito us.” Swansilhilde’s face was stony, she was worried any moment she’d betray the fact she was winging her entire argument. Her father wanted the proceedings over with; in a manner so as to make it seem Commander Smith had been accepted into the Capital- rather than muscled his way into it. “Justice Schmitt, it is customary for the head of the High Council to decide our course of action.”

Please, she thought desperately Agree to it.

Justice Schmitt adjusted his glasses once more and dabbed the sweat that was beading his forehead with a crimson cloth. “I can understand how Sina would lack the resources to deal with such a matter. Their style of passing judgement is rather draconian of course. Surely this Levi would be beheaded. Is there anything else we should know regarding your correspondence with Sina officials, Mister Gressler?”

Gressler’s cane had switched hand, he seemed at once nonchalant “All that can be said is our Commander Smith wants the proceedings to be thorough, due mainly to the fact that this was a mass arrest. Our key player- the Levi fellow- seems to be rather valuable.”

“I take it then the Commander has come to plead with us to spare the man's life,” sighed Justice Ziegler “Whatever Commander Smith wants from him had better be worth the trouble we’re going through.”

“I humbly ask you to reconsider your suspicions surrounding King Fritz.” Swansilhilde said to the room at large.

“Aye,” began Justice Fuchs “I still don’t like the odds that this is being done t’er make us look like fools.” He grumbled.

“Indeed.” Squawked Justice Gaetner

“An ultimatum then,” came the sly suggestion of Schmitt “We will pass judgement on the criminal on Sina’s behalf- although we will enforce whatever punishment we deem fit. The criminal will either be allowed to leave and serve a considerable amount of time in prison- or we will behead him here in Filomena.”

Schmitt shot a challenging look at Swansilhilde, who eyed him defiantly. The room had splintered off into several statement being made at the same time. Some excited at the prospect of beheading a criminal, others apprehensive.

“Indeed.” Managed swansilhilde “We will cast our votes following the trial then.”  
“We?” Asked Gaetner, the surprise in his voice unmistakable.

“Yes,” said Swansilhilde firmly “I will stand in my father’s place as the sixth council member. I, Princess Swansilhilde, will serve in the High Court until such a time as a decision has been reached regarding the criminal’s life.”

“I wasn’t made aware the King had a previous engagement.” Justice Krause seemed genuinely confused.

“Unfortunately it is a matter for the State, I will be accompanying him on some urgent business regarding Dresden,” Gressler had once again stepped in to save Swansilhilde “Not to worry.”

Schmitt seemed unfazed, although there was a sharp pang of anger in his voice when he next spoke. “Very well. This meeting is adjourned. Captain Smith will be along in the late afternoon, we’ve arranged for the Garrison to meet him.”

“I’ll be along shortly.” Added Swansilhilde.

The High Court stood, saluted their Princess and left. Gaetner was beaming at the prospect of beheading one of Sina’s citizens. Justices Krause and Ziegler seemed rather apprehensive, exiting huddled together in meaningful conversation. Justice Fuchs was stroking his long grey beard merrily, he looked rather like a preening parrot, thought Swansilhilde coldly.  
Justice Schmitt paused at the door, barely turning around he muttered low enough that only Swansilhilde could hear him “The day will come soon enough when Sina’s eye will turn towards our horizons. Prepare yourself.” He exited swiftly, leaving Swansilhilde and Gressler alone.

The room was quiet except for Mister Gressler’s idle humming.  
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d received a letter from Captain Smith?” Swansilhilde asked in a low voice. She lowered herself back onto her chair and stroked her chin in thought.

“I didn’t.” Came the cheery reply “I spent the morning down in Dresden with a very beautiful young woman. Her father’s a fishmonger- a very successful one- deals fish directly to the market here in Stuttgart. A Starszguard soldier on patrol saw the envoy in the tunnels- he’d been mouthing off all over town about the circumstances of one Mister Levi’s arrest.”

Swansilhilde stared incredulously at him “Do you know what will happen if word gets out about such a tale? If the High Court discovers you’re a liar you’ll be hanged for treason.” She hissed.

Mister Gressler shrugged “Nobody will ever hear such an outlandish tale again. Our beloved loose-lipped Starszguard patrol officer has been dispatched back to the tunnels until Sina’s irksome Captain leaves. Nobody will believe a word of it once the trial become public.”

“Indeed.” Murmured Swansilhilde.

“You understand now, why I’ve been such a loyal bulldog for the King, then? Knowing everybody on one hand, and having the power to destroy information on the other-“ he brought his bejewelled cane down hard onto his palm “the magnificent two-faced legal system is a man-eating machine I keep well oiledfor Filomena.”

“You didn’t have to bother that poor girl at least.” Huffed Swansilhilde.

“Oh I’d say I ‘bothered’ well enough that she’d do anything I ask of her from here on out. Anything.” With a wink Mister Gressler strode gracefully to the door “Shall we?” He asked.

**  
Swansilhilde had been going over the events of the meeting in her mind. They played on a loop as she pondered Schmitt’s strange parting words. Too many rumours were clouding her judgement, too many half truths and trifling characters with ulterior motives. She was still haunted by the things Mia had said to her on their ride to the Capital. Who could have started such a grim rumour? For what purpose? Why would the Commander from Sina fight to save the life of a criminal if he’d already apprehended an entire network of thugs successfully? Why go through all the trouble of trying to have one man spared- why such lengths to stall Sina’s unchecked zeal for passing the death penalty? Everything seemed strange, although it was not unlike politics to be so underhanded at the best of times.

King Lukas seemed to want the Commander to pass quietly through his kingdom, as though doing a task off one’s to-do list. Simple, clean, logical and efficient. Such were the words Swansilhilde had been taught to associate with achieving the Royal Family’s goals. Times were different now, the narrative of the situation seemed to have been split among parties unwilling to cooperate with each other.

Swansilhilde was pulled out of her thoughts by Mia’s arrival. They’d taken refuge in a lovely hotel to patiently wait for the arrival of Commander Smith and his company. Mia had fetched Swansilhilde tea, finger sandwiches and biscuits neatly displayed on multi-tiered bone China. Mister Gressler had gone off somewhere with the flimsy excuse he had preparations to make pending his trip back to the castle with Swansilhilde. She had given him the letter intended for his eyes, and watched him read it quickly as a confused shadow fell across his features. He’d hastily folded the letter back up, and seemingly riled by its contents he’d fled like a thief with a terrible secret. Swansilhilde hadn’t had time to even pry about the letter’s contents before Gressler had blended in with the crowd and disappeared from view.

The whole ordeal had been mildly infuriating. Secrets everywhere thought Swansilhilde, pretending to listen to what Mia was saying The land of men is treacherous- indeed!

“-he’d said they were delivered daily and I don’t doubt it. I ordered nine yards to be delivered immediately, I reckon it would make a lovely garment for you Princess.” Mia was talking excitedly about something or other.

“Yes very well.” Swansilhilde managed.

Suddenly Swansilhilde noticed a very nervous-looking woman scuttling towards them. She was wearing a cloak typical of government officials, but her hood was drawn despite them being indoors. A few loose strands of sandy hair and large round glasses perched on a thin nose betrayed her identity: it was Justice Marie Ziegler.  
Swansilhilde thought quickly, knocking over a tea cup she grabbed Mia’s shoulder as she dove to pick up the pieces. “No need Mia, go call a waiter won’t you? I believe a shard has pierced my frock it is entirely my fault.” A shocked and blushing Mia ran off, affording Ziegler the chance to hastily make her way behind the pillar by Swansilhilde.

She was obstructed by a bar and some stools, but Swansilhilde could sense her presence. She remained seated, facing away from the hotel’s window as she pretended to wipe up a tea stain. She gingerly picked up the tea cup’s remnants from the floor, scanning the room for suspicious characters.

“Princess,” came the breathy voice behind her “I come with a warning.”

Swansilhilde hid her face with her hair, daring not too speak too plainly or loudly in case they were being watched. “We may be being observed Justice Ziegler.”

“I can no longer deny it,” Ziegler continued at lighting speed “There is a muttering amongst the government officials- a coup on the verge of coming to fruition. Terrible plots are being made by certain among the King’s inner circle. Sina will overtake Wall Filomena, it is inevitable- you must warn your father, although I suspect he is wise to the murmurings within the Capital.”

Swansilhilde was frozen in shock, her hand clutching the handkerchief was shaking- perhaps out of fear.

“Tell no one. Justice Krause thought it foolish to put the burden upon you- but the Royal family must be warned. Filomena cannot be allowed to crumble. Trust no one.”

Swansilhilde turned around sharply, she wanted to grab Ziegler to prove she wasn’t experiencing some horrid hallucination. The corner the voice had been coming from was empty, and Ziegler had evidently fled. The bar man’s cellar door was swinging wildly as though somebody had torn through it. Swansilhilde was in a sort of daze, she hadn’t even noticed Mia noisily barreling towards her with a medic, a waiter and a shrill panicking cry.

“Oh my Princess!” He fussed, as the medic busied himself with Swansilhilde’s hand in search of a wound.

“Oh I saw them-“ interjected Mia, sounding annoyed “The shards are embedded in the frock!”

Swansilhilde’s mind was alight with questions. She considered calling a carriage right then and going home to tell her father all that had just happened. She wanted desperately to scream at they passersby- at the busboy, the waiter, the medic and Mia. There is a plot to ruin us! She wanted to cry We must seek out the aid of the military immediately! There is a plot to destroy our home!

Suddenly a cry wrung out, and Swansilhilde focused on Mia’s alarmed face. The piece of the broken tea cup she’d been clutching had pierced her for real, and a steady stream of crimson blood was pouring down her wrist and forearm, staining her sleeve. She must have been clenching hard, she’d hurt herself after all.

The medic was frazzled by Mia’s shouting and fussing over her Lady, but seemed kind enough. They’d been escorted by the hotel owner and their waiter up to a lavishly furnished apartment. Swansilhilde’s hand had been bandaged, and she was sitting in a plush pink armchair. A blanket had been thrown over her legs, and she’d been given some cozy slippers. Mia had busied herself rifling through the trunk they’d brought with them, straightening things up around what Swansilhilde considered to be an already immaculate-looking room. She had been tucked in like a child, swaddled by an overbearing Mia. It had been funny to see the panicked and flushed faces of the waiter and hotel owner as Mia sent them away with a scolding.

“Entirely too long,” she’d complained “I could have told you where your Princess’s wound was right away! You ought to be ashamed- insisting no wound was present! The nerve!”

Swansilhilde sighed, resigning herself to her comfortable chair she watched Mia through bleary eyes. What an exciting day she’d had, but weighing her options she now wondered who she’d tell about her ordeal- or rather who’d believe her. The nature of half hearted rumours were one matter, but the anguished ramblings of a High Court official? Ominous indeed. Swansilhilde’s diplomatic training hadn’t quite prepared her for her current situation, and she was left pondering her many options; the many pawns at her disposal.

She looked at Mia and straightened up a bit “Mia?” She asked casually.

Mia dropped a petticoat she was attempting to fold and turned her concerned eyes to Swansilhilde. “My lady?” She asked shrilly, betraying the air of calmness she had worked to cultivate.

“Tell me, if you were to hear a rumour so particularly nasty, so heart wrenching it drove you to madness to merely remember it- would you be so inclined as to believe it?”

A beat of silence passed, and Mia stared blankly at the petticoat in the trunk. “Should I have the medic come examine your head Princess? Did you bump it?”

Swansilhilde let out a peal of laughter and now sitting completely upright locked eyes with a startled-looking Mia. “I speak merely of heresay among the government officials. Many interesting endeavours are underway, I find myself wondering if I should be allowed to be swept up by the wave of zeal that seems to be passing over us.”

Mia relaxed a little, her blue eyes met Swansilhilde’s and a girlish smile, gentle and welcoming, spread across her face. “Ah,” she breathed “I suppose even young diplomats are to be allowed to be seduced by sensationalist statements. What a pity it would be if we expected a fair young Princess to remain stoic all the time.”

Swansilhilde said nothing, but turned her face away from Mia in disgust. What good was whimsy to somebody in a position such as hers? The splendours of youth were not worth talking about at such a time as this- surely Mia had misunderstood. Surely everybody had misunderstood that which Swansilhilde was desperately trying to telegraph: a strange plot is afoot.

“What if you’d been told by a complete stranger the world was ending?” Asked Swansilhilde at last “That in a week’s time the sun would be plucked out of the sky and fall on your head.”

“I wouldn’t be so inclined to believe it.” Mia replied graciously.

“Why?” Asked Swansilhilde flatly “What if your mother told you ‘Mia, the sun will be plucked from the sky tomorrow’.”

“How does one stop the sun from being plucked from the sky?” Mia asked innocently.

“That’s what you have to figure out,” Swansilhilde watched her straightening a lamp shade “But first you must decide whether or not to believe it.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter then- whether I were told by a stranger or by the person I loved the most I-“

“If Victor told you.” Swansilhilde interjected suddenly.

Mia seemed hurt but composed herself, gazing pointedly at the open trunk on the floor “I would trust Victor to protect me from the sun falling out of the sky. I know he’d do anything to keep us safe. What more is there to do than to trust each other, if the world were truly to end?”

“You wouldn’t be afraid you’d made an ignorant choice?”

Swansilhilde waited for Mia’s reply with bated breath.

“Of course I’d be afraid,” came the soft reply “Even if none of it were true- wouldn’t you be? The prospect is greater than the danger itself, sometimes.”

Mia dusted off her skirts “I’ll fetch us some wood for the fireplace, the wind’s picked up outside.” She turned lithely on her heels and careened out the door.  
Swansilhilde was left alone in a silent room, once again racked with shame by having picked on Mia.

**

The hours rolled steadily onwards. Mister Gressler returned, uncharacteristically tight-lipped. He’d sent a small envelope up to Swansilhilde by way of a busboy, he’d be returning to the castle immediately. Preparations were to be made, ‘more details to follow’ he’d written. Swansilhilde had stared at the hastily written note for what seemed like ages. Whatever shady business Gressler had once again involved himself in, the King for some reason or another hadn’t wanted Swansilhilde to be privy to it. To distract herself she’d ordered Mia to fetch her a few books from the Imperial Library. She’d brush up on the different legal systems in place in Sina and Filomena, respectively. Work distracted her from worrying too much about any one thing; Swansilhilde was always more than happy to plunge headfirst into a productive endeavour. She sat in her same plush armchair, books and papers strewn wildly on the marble table before her. With a long white quill she was scribbling with a vengeance onto a piece of parchment.

Mia was perched on the plush bed with a book. It was one of the only books she owned, graciously donated to her by her Lady. The Princess and the Pauper, beautifully illustrated and bound in a silky material. It’s pages smelled like the perfume Swansilhilde wore, as it had sat untouched in her boudoir for years before finding its way to Mia. Mia and Swansilhilde were only a few years apart. She fondly recalled the day she’d arrived at the castle, among many fresh-faced young girls looking for work as scullery maids. Dresden was a particularly nasty, crowded place for those without surface citizenship. Victor was a new recruit in the Training Corps and had swindled citizenship for his mother, his sister and himself.  
Greta, just as burly as ever, had made Mia work hard, long hours. She’d scrubbed floors, peeled potatoes, cleaned stables and polished shoes. It had all come to an end suddenly, when she’d laid eyes on Princess Swansilhilde. She’d been on her way to fetch Greta, having prepared for her a light dinner, when she’d spotted her with the young Lady. The Princess was careening down the stairs, lit up by the sunset. Her tiara was twinkling, her dark hair twisting and twirling behind her like a black cloud. Her eyes had been downcast, until she’d looked up and met Mia’s. Mia remembered how she’d felt, as though they were the only two people in the world. The smile Swansilhilde had given her had sent her into a frenzy and she’s dropped the pale of water she was holding.  
Mia had begged to be a lady-in-waiting. Small, malnourished and stunted in growth, the work of a scullery maid was running her ragged. Swansilhilde had noticed her frequently bothering Greta, asking to be put in charge of polishing silverware, dressing the Queen, or making the beds- anything she could have done outside the realm of back-breaking labor. Swansilhilde had been moved by her plight, she’d always been so kind and thoughtful, and soon enough Mia had replaced Greta completely. Everyday was a challenge to be sure, and keeping up with a rapidly growing Swansilhilde was no easy task but Mia felt as though she were floating on a golden cloud every moment they spent together. The day she’d been given the book was one of the happiest in her life. I haven’t touched it in so long Swansilhilde had said nonchalantly and tossed it over. Mia had slept with it under her pillow for weeks until the book’s binding had begun to come undone in some places. The Princess in the story: demure, petite, brave and perhaps a little foolhardy, had reminded her so much of her Lady she couldn’t bear to part with it. The days she’d spent nursing Victor back to health had only been bearable thanks to the perfumed pages of Swansilhilde’s gift to her.  
Even now Mia threw glances at her Lady toiling away, slaving over scrolls and parchment and tomes. A bead of sweat trickled down Swansilhilde’s nose, Mia could have ran over and wiped it with the hem of her dress if she could. She’d take those slender hands in hers and encourage her Lady with the rigorous riling of an esteemed Captain, if she could.

Suddenly there came a knock at the door. The pair looked towards it, and Mia hopped off the bed and dutifully answered the door. She found the handsome young busboy staring back at her, flushed.

“He’s arrived.” Said the busboy curtly, and with a bow he left them.

Swansilhilde’s expression was stony, she stood in a swift movement and walked stiffly to where her outside shoes had been placed.  
Mia was worried for her, unsure what to expect. She dutifully helped her into her coat and led her out into the hall. A few steps behind her Lady, she stared so hard at the back of Swansilhilde’s head she thought she’d bore a hole in it. She didn’t understand the nature of their various meetings that day (in fact she was more often than not sent far away when the real political discussions began) but she knew when Swansilhilde had a lot on her mind. She seemed almost unhinged, ravenous and determined to a point it almost scared Mia. She’d inherited the King’s fierce love of politics and civil service, and though she sold herself short, Swansilhilde was rapidly becoming a star debater- a real terror for unruly politicians to deal with.  
Mia smiled proudly, glad nobody could see her. That was her precious Lady, indeed.


	5. Ringelblume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Erwin Smith finds himself in the shining capital of Filomena. It’s buildings are glittering and its horizons are vast, but all this is set dressing for a nation in peril; he’s come bearing a warning Swansilhilde is all too familiar with.  
> King Lukas is becoming increasingly more riled as his visitors make themselves at home in Carolingian, and Mister Gressler leaves in search of a mysterious “Doctor Jaeger”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it cause it’s the name of the hotel? Fun right?! Ringelblume in English means “Marigold”
> 
> Hope you like my portrayal of Commander Handsome and Hanji- poor Swansilhilde’s head must be clouding over with lust at the sight of that fine blonde booty. I know I’d be ~ phew
> 
> Also s/o to Grisha Jaeger for being just the right amount of off-putting to fulfill the role of “creepy doctor”!!

Erwin Smith had heard an awful lot about Wall Filomena’s splendour. It was rumoured to be a glittering white-stone city with ancient architecture and Rococco sensibilities. A small tribe of blonde, blue-eyed men had settled outside Sina long ago, or so the rumours said; having won the favour of Filomena the Goddess of Love they’d been spared from titans long enough to build an official settlement. Erwin wasn’t sure how much of this he believed, although he was willing to admit Filomena was surely unique. It’s citizens seemed so far-removed from the rest of Paradis Island it was almost comical. He’d never seen such an isolated bunch; even their Royal Family had remained pig-headedly determined to self-govern through the years. Two Kings in Paradis Island had created a fair amount of tension as the years rolled on; Filomena was constantly under the threat of being choked out from the Eldian cities as a whole.  
Erwin sighed, the situation had its perks though didn’t it? He had been able to smuggle the leader of an underground gang past Sina’s officials in one piece; without King Fritz noticing. The ball was finally in Erwin’s court, he was free to do what he pleased with the intriguing Levi. Filomena was an oasis in a sea of brutal corporal punishment; Erwin was hedging his bets on the fact that Filomena’s sovereign was notoriously against beheading people, and obsessed with diplomacy. 

But what of the peoples’ beloved Princess? He wondered.

Starszguard personnel from the tunnels had spoken highly of her, this Princess Swansilhilde who he was on his way to meet. She seemed to be just as obsessed with decency and second chances as her predecessors. Erwin recognized the importance of selfless devotion to the public, but there was a good reason King Fritz’s somewhat tyrannical hold on Sina had afforded him so much territory. Erwin peered into the sky, it was unnaturally bright here despite being so late in autumn. The white buildings were reflecting the light like a thousand mirrors; the wide open spaces of the Capital city Carolingian made Erwin feel exposed. 

He was growing uneasy, although he didn’t allow his expression to betray him. Their horses had been taken away, something to do with regulations regarding buggies and carriages, and the squad was on foot. Hanji had been able to talk their way into being given a small carriage on wheels for Levi to remain inside- although it was more like a food cart for fruit. Erwin allowed himself a little smile, surely the feisty little criminal would be discouraged enough by now that his lips would loosen. It would be better that way, for Levi’s own sake.

Hanji re appeared suddenly from the crowd. She was tossing an orange up and down, looking pleased with herself. “Sure is a lot of fruit around here,” he said cheerily as she approached Erwin “I think I understand the appeal of this place. Sure looks like somewhere a Goddess of Love would set up shop.” She rubbed the orange on her shirt to clean it off.

Erwin signalled the men who had been pushing the cart forward. “Where to?” He asked.

Hanji pointed towards a tall dome-shaped building. It had a chimney where a steady stream of black smoke was making its way out. “That’s the High Court’s building- we’ll be bringing the buggey around. As for you, I met with a shifty-looking accountant just now. You’re to go to the Ringelblume Hotel. It’s got a huge menagerie on the ground-floor- I’m told you can’t miss it.”

Erwin nodded solemnly “Very well. I’ll meet with Princess Swansilhilde then. We’ll see you at the High Court’s building- you’re in charge. I look forward to seeing the kind of decision they’ve reached.”

Hanji frowned, still tossing her orange playfully “Princess? I thought we were meeting the King and his Justices?”

Erwin sighed “You said it yourself didn’t you? They sent some shifty accountant to meet us halfway- I don’t think the King is coming after all. Some kid in the Starszguard was going on about how Filomena’s Princess was journeying to the Capital; I wager she’d here to meet us.”

Hanji chuckled “Here to meet you.”

**  
Swansilhilde had been given a small conference room on the ground floor to hold her meeting. She was sitting, jittery but focused, on a chair with an obnoxiously embroidered throw pillow. A large table sprawled out before her. The walls were made entirely of glittering mirrors, and the floor was gold. How anybody could concentrate in such an obnoxious-looking room was beyond her. She felt like a fixture in a diorama: meant to be looked at and not at all practical. She sighed. A large tome sat in front of her, it’s blue bookmark spilled out the side and lay limply on the marble table.

‘Judiciary Proceedings Vol. II, High Court of Filomena.’

Swansilhilde hadn’t uncovered anything she didn’t already know. The hybrid monarchy-government of Filomena was said to have been instituted by its founding Goddess of Love. Swansilhilde suspected otherwise, naturally.

The High Court, appointees replaced by the King as its members died off, was the people’s last fail-safe against tyrannical rulers. Responsible for the judgement of enemies of the state, the High Court was the jauggernaut that ran Filomena’s justice system. They could even depose rulers if they had sufficient evidence against them.  
Court cases overseen by the High Court were left to a vote, the results of which would determine the criminal’s fate. The High Court therefore had to operate like a many headed hydra: moving in the same direction to achieve the same ends. King Lukas and the High Court would generally agree about what to do when the circumstance were dire- although Swansilhilde had a nagging feeling she wouldn’t have such an easy time dealing with them. All other government positions were generally directly inferior to the King; they seemed almost like fake positions. Accountants, advisors, officers, tax men, law men, military police, tradesman- all pawns to be manipulated at will by the King. But the High Court had an uncomfortable level of freedom. They’d acted subservient enough to King Lukas’s whims, but Swansilhilde was wary of their attitude towards her today.

“The theatrics” Gressler had spoken of showed a level of nerve bordering on the antagonistic- and with Justice Ziegler’s words of warning echoing in her mind Swansilhilde’s heart was skipping beats again.  
They could usurp the throne, take temporary control of the military and re instate anybody as ruler. She wouldn’t put it past the likes of Schmitt or Gaetner to depose her father and take a seat on the throne themselves. Filomena’s reputation for being a docile people was thanks to her father’s family and their love of justice. The unbridled support from the people was thanks to the Royal Family’s zeal for being public servants. ‘Offer you heart to humanity’ was engraved across almost every doorway in the castle at King Lukas’s request. ‘Offer your soul’ was engraved on her grandparents’ tombstone. Neither Schmitt nor Gaetner, nor anybody like them would have the decency to treat their citizens gently. It would be chaos.

From across the room the door opened; the creak of the handle was magnified by the echo-y chamber. In strode a tall blonde man of considerable stature, and the door was closed with a dull thud behind him.  
Swansilhilde rose out of her seat and in long strides made her way to him. He saluted just the same as any member of the Survey Corps, and then gingerly taking one hand, he bent down on one knee.

“Greetings, Princess Swansilhilde.” He said, his voice was virile “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you. My name is Commander Erwin Smith.”

Swansilhilde could feel herself blushing, but forced herself to stare him straight in the eyes as he stood up. “Greetings Commander, the pleasure is mutual.”

The man before her was tall, broad shouldered and impeccably groomed. The Scouting Legion had a tendency to come off as rather scruffy in her opinion, but everything down to the man’s eyebrows had been painstakingly put in place. She wondered if he always went through the trouble.

“Please,” she gestured to the table, where a place had been set “Have a seat. I arranged for some dinner to be brought down, it’s quite a journey through the tunnel system; I’ll have provisions sent to your troops as well.”

Commander Smith smiled graciously but put up one hand in dismissal “It can wait. In any case we’ve arranged to share a barrack with the Garrison tonight. My fellow Commander and I have been graciously assigned to a small apartment for military personnel.”

Swansilhilde nodded “I take it you met with Mister Gressler then? My father sent him to meet you when you arrived in the Capital to ensure a smooth transition. Although I’m afraid he won’t be joining us- he has some urgent matters to attend to.”

“Aye.” Offered Captain Smith.

Swansilhilde was hiding her bandaged hand in the pocket of her coat. It’s many layers of royal blue fabric were keeping it disguised, and with her other hand she was holding her coat’s lapel so as to seem unbothered. In reality Swansilhilde was exploding with questions.

Captain Smith was seated, he seemed comically rugged in the fancy chair. Swansilhilde sat on his left side. “Do have a cup of tea then Commander.” She urged gently, and set about pouring from the kettle whatever Mia had prepared them.

Commander Smith sat stoicially still, his blue eyes trained on Swansilhilde’s face. 

‘Looking for a sign of weakness are you?’ she thought bitterly ‘I won’t reveal my secrets just yet curr.’

“It has come to our attention you wish to have a prisoner seen to by our High Court. The Court has agreed to begin proceedings immediately, we’ll convene tomorrow. Your arrival is sure to create a commotion about the Capital I wager, I ask on behalf of the Royal Family you don’t take any gossip to heart.” She smiled wryly.

“In fact,” came the steady voice of the Commander “We’ve heard a great number of interesting rumours on the way up from Sina. I take it we shouldn’t take any of them to heart then?” 

More testing. Swansilhilde gritted her teeth “Why go through all the trouble, Commander? Bringing a fugitive here to Filomena. A very hearty stunt to pull indeed.”

Commander Smith seemed to be suppressing a smile “I’m afraid I wagered on your reputation as a fair and just ruler, my Princess. Sina’s legal system is...rather behind in the times- surely you understand the conflict of interest?”

“Oh I do,” Swansilhilde’s voice was slightly more wry than she’d have liked “I take it you need something from this underground bandit then? To go through all the trouble to spare his life. How very merciful.”

Commander Smith put a hand delicately under his chin “Tell me, what has the High Court decided to do then- with our man?”

Swansilhilde took a strange amount of joy at relaying the grim news; she would have been glad to burst his bubble using any means. “Filomena’s justice system relies on a vote, you see. The stakes are quite high in this case: jail time or death by guilltoine I’m afraid.”

The pair locked eyes; Swansilhilde could barely stand looking at the Commander’s smug face any longer. Suddenly his expression softened and he seemed focused on his tea cup instead.

Commander Smith finished his tea in one swig, standing up suddenly. He gazed down at Swansilhilde, who was still clutching her tea cup. “This soire really has been lovely. Sina thanks you for taking the time to see to our needs. It is our sworn duty, after all, to protect one another. All for the greater good of Paradis Island.”

Swansilhilde nodded curtly “All for the greater good of Paradis Island.” She repeated.

The commander’s blue eyes still hadn’t torn away from Swansilhilde’s. The minutes ticked by, the two staring at each other defiantly. Commander Smith suddenly bent down so his mouth was by Swansilhilde’s ear. She was frozen by the brazenness of his actions; unable to move except to blush scarlet.  
“A terrible plot is on the verge of coming to fruition,” the Commander murmured suddenly “It is inevitable- trust no one.” 

Just as quickly as he’d closed the distance between them, the Commander had already pulled away and left; the door closed with another dull thud behind him.  
Swansilhilde was left alone, clutching her tea cup in mid air as if to drink from it. The red still hadn’t drained from her face, and she seemed unable to unstick herself from her chair. She could only breathe deeply and listen to the bustling sounds of dinner service from outside the room. She remembered Justice Ziegler’s words clearly: “A coup is on the verge of coming to fruition...Trust no one.”

‘It was him,’ she thought suddenly, ‘he spread the rumours before he came. In the tunnels.’ 

Her mind was reeling, she finally felt like she had gained some footing on her strange situation. 

‘He wanted it to look like a coincidence. He wants the trial to be the focal point so nobody can tell we’ve been warned. It has nothing to do with the criminal- he’s a decoy- we all allowed ourselves to be fooled.’

Her mouth hung open, she set her tea cup down on the table. Why warn Filomena now? 

She wondered if the warning had truely been meant for her- or perhaps for her father? Had the Commander been trying to hurt Filomena’s chances of survival or warn them of the oncoming battle?  
King Fritz had no knowledge that a trial was being carried out on schedule in Filomena on his behalf. A meddlesome Commander had all but muscled his way in through the tunnels. A mysterious underground gang member- the talk of the town- was the perfect distraction to a much more sinister rumour nagging at the Capital for days. The question, ‘what if Sina were to overtake Filomena?’, had finally bubbled to the surface. All according to plan.

‘But why?’ Swansilhilde asked herself furiously ‘What do you have to gain?’

Commander Smith’s words echoed in her ears: “The greater good of Paradis Island.”

“The greater good,” murmured Swansilhilde “Offer your heart for the greater good of humanity.”

**  
She’d never been so eager to get home, she’d tore through the lobby to where Mia had been waiting for her. Interrupting the spirited conversation Mia had been having with the hotel’s maid, Swansilhilde had demanded she called the cart around.  
“Leave the trunk behind,” she’d ordered “I have to speak to my father immediately.”

Mia’s eyes had been bulging with confusion, but she’d pulled herself together quickly enough. Rallying the footman and the carriage’s driver they stormed away from the Capital- Swansilhilde’s trunk haphazardly fastened to the back of the carriage. The horse’s hooves pounded the road back to the castle, and the carriage was rocking furiously side to side. Mia was holding on to her seat, queasy-looking and red in the face as Swansilhilde periodically stuck her head out the window and barked at their chauffer to go faster.

“My Princess I-“ began Mia, but Swansilhilde silenced her with one hand.

“There isn’t time enough,” she explained hastily, flipping through a notebook she’d brought with her she was busily writing things down “I need to see my father.”

Once they’d arrived Swansilhilde had leapt out of the carriage, leaving a frightened Mia calling after her, and tore through the garden to the back-most wing of the castle. She shed her coat on the ground and kicked off her shoes- they were slowing her down. Clutching the notebook to her chest she passed countless statues, frescos and mosaics before reaching a small door overgrown with vines. She weaseled her way in ignoring the cuts and scrapes, as well as the dull throbbing from her injured hand, and ran down the window-laden hallway to a staircase. At last she could see her father’s study door; it was slightly ajar.

She halted abruptly when she heard two voices- they seemed to be arguing.

“Why him? Why now?” Somebody was angrily insisting.

Swansilhilde clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to quiet her breathing. She stuck herself behind the study door and tried to shrink into the shadows. She was gripping her robes with all her might to avoid their bulky silhouette giving her away.

“I don’t understand sire,” came a desperate plea “Please.”

She realized she was looking at Ivan Gressler’s back. His hair was parted like he’d taken Swansilhilde’s running route to her father, it was shaggy and wild on his shoulders. His top hat was gone, his petticoat gone as well- even his alabaster cane was missing. He was gripping King Lukas’s desk, hunched over desperately as though about to vomit.

“Mister Gressler, I assure you all will be revealed in good time.” Came her father’s reply “I’m afraid these allegations against the High Court won’t stand- it will do nothing but turn my public against me. I cannot risk the deposition of my family, it will be the end of Filomena as we know it.”

Mister Gressler had now graduated to gesturing wildly “We have proof sire- that irksome Commander Smith told me so himself in the tunnels. Sina will absorb Filumena into its walls.”

‘Snake’ thought Swansilhilde ‘There was no fish monger’s daughter.’

Her father had sighed heavily, she heard the squeak of his chair as though he’d sat down. “Mister Gressler you must understand, our last defence against outside forces may, in fact, be Dr. Jaeger.”

“You had me try to track him down ages ago sire,” Mister Gressler was sounding more and more unhinged “I journeyed all the way to Shinganshina for you- surely you understand? The man is nowhere to be found- I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been killed for crossing the wrong person.”

Somebody banged their fist against the desk, a heavy silence filled the air.

“I will make the necessary preparation here for his arrival. I trust you’ll find him this time, Ivan.” Came her father’s soothing reply. He was placating Gressler much like one would placate a child having a fit.

“Sire, you seem to be forgetting about the five-headed abomination you call the High Court. King Fritz isn’t orchestrating a coup on his own- how could he? With that high and mighty, uppity, virtue-loving Smith up his arse all hours of the day?”

“Indeed,” chuckled King Lukas “Smith is the pebble which stop the gears of civil unrest from turning. We would do well to leave the chips where they currently fall.”  
Their voices had dropped, they were murmuring too low for Swansilhilde to understand anything. She craned her neck to see but Mister Gressler had moved by the fireplace. Her father was touching a stone near the window, he was gesturing to something- outside? No it didn’t seem that way. Mister Gressler looked away with a start, he’d been shown something.

The tussle of fabric broke the silence, Mister Gressler was putting his jacket back on. “Very well.” He sighed “I’ll bring you Grisha Jaeger in ten months’ time.”

‘Ten months!’ Swansilhilde thought in a panic ‘There won’t be time enough!’

“Ample time, ample time,” sighed her father “By this time next year the matter will be behind us.”

Another murmur and Swansilhilde quickly glued herself into the door jam as Mister Gressler came storming out. He was putting his hat back on hastily, cane gripped firmly in one hand as he tore away down the hall. He’d had a look of sheer determination on his face.

Swansilhilde pinched her cheeks, she wanted to look as though she’d been running to meet her father. Taking a few fake strained breaths she tore into his study as though she’d just crossed Mister Gressler.

“Ah my darling,” her father greeted her. He was standing by the window, leaning out with his hands clasped behind his back as usual “I take it all went well at Carolingian?”

“Yes,” she replied “The Court has decided to go ahead with the trial. It would appear Commander Smith has plans to keep the criminal alive and well for the time being- we can afford him that guarantee at least.”

Her father sighed heavily once again “Ah but I doubt Justice Schmitt would let you get away so easily. Tell me, what’s this stipulation I’m told so much about by Mister Gressler?”

Swansilhilde bit her lip, she wanted to move past the idle conversation. She wanted desperately to blurt out she’d heard everything- and demand to know who Mister Gressler had run off to find.

“If the ballot is cast in favour of condemning the criminal he’ll be beheaded, sire.”

“You intend on casting a fair vote I take it?”

“Yes.”

Her response had almost cut him off. Her hand was bleeding onto her notebook as she clutched it over her heart.

“Well then,” began her father without turning around “All is well. You’ll report back to the Capital tomorrow.”

Nothing but the hiss of the outside breeze could be heard.

“Father,” she began and hesitantly took a step forward “I’ve heard a strange murmuring about...a certain plot.” She bit her lip so hard she feared she would begin to bleed there as well “A murmuring about an...unpleasantness.”

Her father turned around, she expected him to look upset but he was gazing back at her with a tender expression. “Ah yes,” he nodded solemnly “Unpleasantness. Always an unpleasantness here in Filomena. We are the smallest nation on Paradis Island after all- the last of a dying race separate from our fellow Eldians. I’ve heard all manner of strange and terrible murmurs in my time as King.” His eyes twinkled playfully “And from much more intimidating men than Commander Smith.”

Swansilhilde’s mouth fell open, she felt like she could have collapsed onto the floor and been swallowed up by her clothes. How could he have known?

“You recall my saying the High Court is a five-headed enemy?” He asked, Swansilhilde could only nod numbly “King Fritz is an enemy with three arms- all reaching to the farthest ends of the Earth. Cutting off our resources and absorbing us would take little more thought than deploying some of his hundreds of Survey Corps don’t you think? Why play this idle cat-and-mouse game? There is nothing to gain,” he gave a wave of his hand “Only the titans are our greatest threat.”

“But Justice Sch-” her father held up a hand for silence.

“I appointed Justices Schmitt and Gaetner during our darkest hour. A small faction from Maria had commandeered our tunnels. A mad military leader threatened to lay waste to us. They would collapse the tunnels and the south-most wall and invite the titans in to devour us.” He shook his head “You’d just been born, I was younger then. I had just been crowned not long ago; my father before me was at the front commanding the Starszguard. We held strong, defeated the wallists that were aiding the small faction, and won once again- the right to govern as we saw fit.”

“Wallists?” Asked Swansilhilde, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Yes wallists,” boasted her father “Schmitt quickly outlawed them. They were a no-good titan worshipping cult- fetishists who had outgrown their stay in Filomena. No small rogue nations, no matter how many cult members they roped into their schemes, are able to seize control of the state’s ODM weapons without outside help.” He looked pointedly at Swansilhilde “It’s no mystery who may have supplied them weapons and funds to run amok as long as they did. But we held strong, our court held strong.”

Swansilhilde was blushing from annoyance, “Things are different now- the ambitions of government officials is different now. King Fritz has seized power from every living nobleman by force. Filomena can no longer provide for its officials the way it once did, all roads lead back to King Fritz’s command. You can’t believe somebody like-“ she caught herself before she said Justice Schmitt’s name “You can’t deny somebody would want to wager against us for more power.”

Her father’s face darkened “Bold of you to say, my daughter. You and Mister Gressler alike speak as though I hadn’t weighed our options. What is your King but your greatest tactician? I taught you everything you know, yet you speak to me as plainly as though I were a fool.” 

Swansilhilde averted her eyes in embarrassment.

“Justices Krause and Ziegler report directly to me. Even-tempered, mild-mannered- able to keep the likes of certain people in check. If a nasty plot was afoot I’d have been notified.”

‘She was planning to notify you’ Swansilhilde thought desperately ‘But you sent me along instead.’

“I’ve tired of the assurance you both bear upon rumours. The truths of this sordid business of sovereignty are that outside and inside forced alike seek to ruin our plans constantly. I’d hoped I had taught you better than this.” He sighed, seeming genuinely disappointed “I’d sent you along today to do my bidding, that much is true. I knew I could trust you to bring about a clean solution to this whole business with Sina. I’m disappointed in the turn your mission has taken, my Princess-”

“I-” Swansilhilde was growing desperate.

“You forget yourself daughter!” Her father retorted, a hand firmly set in the air to signal silence “I thought I had sent a representative of the crown to the Capital today- now I see I’ve sent a child. You are to wrap up this business quickly, and return home tomorrow after the proceedings.”

Tears filled Swansilhilde’s eyes, they were both tears of shame and the tears of a broken heart. 

“Dismissed.” Her father said sternly.

Swansilhilde’s legs refused to work, she was rooted to the spot by her anger and disappointment. Her father turned around to gaze out the window again and Swansilhilde tore out of the study as quickly as she’d come in. Her tears were streaming unevenly down her face. Her footsteps were heavy and erratic, pounding and echoing down the stony halls. She ran past a maid with such ferocity she’d caused her to drop her mop and bucket. Swansilhilde wasn’t in the mood to apologize; she’d continued running until she found herself in an unlit portion of the castle. Night had fallen, it was dark and cold and unfamiliar. Her sobs came out broken and pitiable like the last howls of a wounded animal. Unable to resist the urge to weep, she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

**  
King Lukas was gazing at the horizon. Everything was dark, blue and murky; indistinguishable were the landmarks of the outer kingdom. Everything seemed to melt into the Great Lake Rosanna that surrounded his Wall Filomena.

He sighed heavily, his little Swansilhilde had torn from the room like a wounded bird. He’d listened, strained his ears to hear the sound of her thumping footsteps until he could hear no more. He wanted desperately to tell her he’d known of the gossip that entombed the Royal Family’s lives for months. As usual his faithful bulldog Ivan Gressler had been the first to catch wind of a nasty coup in the works. Lukas had had people gutted, arrested, condemned, sent away, beheaded and sold out all in an effort to stop the coup in its tracks. The time had come for a great reckoning to settle upon Filomena- their days were numbered, surely.

He’d sent a reluctant Ivan Gressler to fetch him a very eclectic acquaintance from his days as a boy: Doctor Grisha Jaeger. A strange, eccentric and two-faced rat, he was infamous for having duped King Fritz’s top scientists numerous times. Sabotaging experiments, wreaking general havoc and impeding progress on Sina’s study of the titans. There was something Luka desperately needed from him; he would have paid any price to get it- gone to whatever great lengths necessary.

He’d have to trust Ziegler, Krause and the meddlesome Commander Smith (by proxy) to keep the peace for as long as they could. A complex web of lies and trickery, smoke screens hiding true intentions, and debates about the future headed nowhere. 

‘Tools’ he’d been taught as a young boy ‘All deceit is a tool for delaying the inevitable.’

Lukas was pacing, his eyes were locked on the false stone set in place beside the window. A delicate push was all it needed- just as he’d shown Gressler; the underground lair of Lukas’s last remaining hope for the future would be revealed.

‘But alas, poor Swansilhilde.’ He thought at once.

Had he been too harsh? Too demanding? Too cruel for leaving such a weighty task in her hands? Her ignorance would keep her safe- for now. She’d have deniability, she could say she was simply following orders. Spared from the prying eyes of government officials and angry citizens- the illusion of the perfect princess. 

‘She’ll be protected under the guise of innocence,’ he thought solemnly ‘Who could place the horrible burden of truth upon her delicate shoulders?’

Outside a hound howled mournfully.


	6. Göttin der Liebe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dejected and feeling foolish, Swansilhilde’s mother comes to her aid. Her father refuses to heed her words, and suffering under the weight of her many responsibilities our beloved Princess must put all her faith in the Goddess of Love Filomena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 cheers for sauerkraut!
> 
> This chapter’s a little fluffy and simple- basically a wind-down from all the nonstop action we’ve had so far.
> 
> Edit: title translation: goddess of love

CHAPTER 6  
“Oh my Lady!” The shrill cry had come from somebody wielding a candlestick.

Along came Mia, her eyes filled with tears, her hair in a state of disarray.

“Oh Charlotte had said she’d seen you come by here! Oh how right she was!” Mia had crouched by Swansilhilde, she was demanding to know if she’d been hurt and was gripping her forearms in concern.

Swansilhilde peered behind her at the little maid she’d passed earlier. The poor thing was drenched.

“Please forgive me.” Sniffed Swansilhilde in her direction.

Charlotte blushed furiously and curtsied “N-no my Princess forgive me.” She squeaked.

Mia had brought Swansilhilde to her feet and was fussing about the state of her hair and clothes. “You should have told me where you’d run off to- all manner of things could have gone wrong! I had the maids check the well- oh my Heavens! Thank the Heavenly Goddess Filomena you didn’t fall and twist your ankle-” Mia was going on and on working herself into a frenzy.

“So they’ve found you my swan.” Came a sultry voice from behind them.

Mia and Charlotte immediately fell silent and scrambled into a humble bow.  
“My Queen!” Mia managed, her tone still frenzied.

“Oh Mia, you’ve done well in finding Swansilhilde,” she cooed appreciatively “Do us a kindness and run the bath water in the hammam, and set out some bed clothes for Swansilhilde as well.”

Mia looked concerningly at the Queen and then back at her Lady, she was gripping her candlestick like she hadn’t yet decided what to do. “Y-yes ma’am! Shall I have Charlotte escort you to the hammam my Queen?”

The Queen smiled graciously “No need,” she said smoothly, she was holding a small decorative lantern which was glowing faintly “We’ll meet you there I suppose.”

“Yes ma’am!” Barked Mia, and throwing an unsavoury look at Charlotte she dragged her off by the ear. “I’ll teach you to knock over my Lady!” Swansilhilde heard her mutter “I’ll have you scrubbing dinner plates for weeks I will!”

Swansilhilde’s mother wrapped a linen shawl around her shoulders.

“Now, now,” she purred “Stop your shivering my swan.”

Swansilhilde produced a handkerchief and set about drying her face. Her mother noticed her bandaged hand and carefully spread apart her fingers “My, my- what an exciting day we’ve had.” 

“Mother,” Swansilhilde began, but words escaped her “I...”

“There will be time enough to tell me all about it my child.” Came the steady reply. Slowly Swansilhilde let herself herself be led down the dark hallway arm-in-arm with her mother. She was humming as though she didn’t have a care in the world, interrupted only by Swansilhilde’s occasional hiccup.

“He is too cruel!” Swansilhilde said at last, “I was simply doing what I thought was right.” Her father’s words were making more and more sense to her now. She’d allowed herself to be swayed by vague nonsense. Although she admitted the scene she’d witnessed in her father’s study had been all too strange; she still couldn’t shake the sound of Erwin Smith’s voice from her mind. “The greater good of Paradis Island.” He’d said.

She shuttered, although not from the cold.

“It is unfortunate to say, men have no tact when it comes to matters of the heart,” began her mother “A great many years ago a strange man came to wait on your father. Told me all manner of lies- I wholeheartedly believed. The scolding I got from Lukas,” she chuckled heartily “I believe the whole kingdom heard his thunderous roars.”

Swansilhilde frowned “I believe the warnings to be true- I know in my heart I’m right. Father says in a year’s time it will all be over but I have my doubts.”

“Hm.” Hummed her mother, thinking things over “Luckily the calendar does not end here and begin anew in the following year. There is still time. There is still this fortified castle. There are still loyal members of the Starszguard.” 

Swansilhilde sighed irritably “Is this the first time? That our family’s been threatened.”

Her mother gave her a knowing grin “Oh Heavens no. If the world stopped every time our family was threatened we would spend all our time in a state of frantic preparation for the worst. Welcome to the world of governance my love.”

Swansilhilde looked helplessly up at her “Marie Ziegler warned me today,” she bit her lip again, feeling like she was outing some terrible secret “She said a coupe was ‘inevitable’.”

“Marie Ziegler is a strange one,” murmured her mother “I don’t doubt she has an idea of what she’s talking about. In fact she seems to have the strangest power. The less she is able to see with her eyes the more she is able to see with her heart- or so people tell me.” She gave Swansilhilde a meaningful look “Wouldn’t you suppose there is a reason our people no longer worship oracles? The Goddess Filomena once gave righteous women the power to tell the future,” the light from her lantern bounced across a great winged statue “They would lose their eyesight and gain privy to truths unknown to mankind. Filomena took her great power away, however, for the oracles had begun to tell self-serving lies.”

Swansilhilde considered her mother’s words. She had resolved to follow where the evidence led her throughout her whole life. Observing, studying, calculating and predicting the way a good decision-maker aught to have. But the emotional urgency with which Erwin Smith and Marie Ziegler had presented themselves was startling. Perhaps the trial would tell her more- if she could just get a hold of that Levi fellow. There must have been something he’d want in return for feeding her information.

Her mother had started humming again but Swansilhilde was far away- plotting her next move. It felt wrong deliberately trying to sneak behind her father’s back like this. 

‘Alas’, she thought, ‘a necessary evil.’

The pair had come to a drawing room at last, nearby the hammam and well-lit by torches. They were standing under a large painting: her parents’ wedding portrait. Her mother was as young and beautiful as ever, her ceremonial headdress studded with black and gold beads. She wore a long-sleeved garment, similarly beaded, and a delicate wedding band. Swansilhilde had been entranced by the portrait as a child; she’d stare up at her mother in her traditional attire and her father- adorned in groom’s jewels and a fur cape. She’d make up stories about them in her head, and listen intently to the tale of their great courtship. 

The tales were half truths, Swansilhilde now knew, their marriage had been arranged. Her mother’s unwavering beauty had captured the hearts of the people and made them even more subservient to their King somehow. She’d just had to smile and wave, give long speeches and glimmer with the light thrown by her priceless jewels. Statues of her were everywhere in Filomena; to be fair the Royal Family’s likeness was smattered across public spaces almost obnoxiously so. Even the castle itself housed a veritable gallery of paintings dedicated to, or simply of, the four young princesses.  
The Queen Mother, rumoured to be a reincarnation of the people’s Goddess of Love, supposedly descended from Heaven to be the bride of a King.

“Queen Filomena,” came a voice at the entrance of the room “Queen Filomena- the bath water is ready for use now.” Whoever it had been curtsied and left.  
Swansilhilde’s mother continued to lead her away, stopping when she saw her daughter throwing accusatory glances over her shoulder towards her wedding portrait.  
“My, my,” she began with a laugh “That’s quite the stink eye you’re giving me.”

Swansilhilde laughed too, bringing her mother’s hand to her lips she gently kissed it. “I was simply wondering what’s to become of me.” She murmured.

Her mother put down her lantern and placed her hands softly on Swansilhilde’s shoulders. “Ah,” she sighed “Soon you’ll be made Queen my swan- not long at all now. The last duty to be fulfilled by your ageing parents will be to have you married to a suitable match.” Swansilhilde could tell her mother was smiling at the prospect. “Only a few more years’ time.” She cooed.

“What if I don’t love him?” Swansilhilde asked flatly.

“Well,” began her mother “What do you look for in a man?”

Swansilhilde blushed furiously “Mother!” She hissed.

Her mother snickered “Well you met that strapping young Commander from Sina- what about him? Would you say that’s your type? Surely I hope you don’t fancy somebody like Mister Gressler, I’ve always thought you two were strangely well suited mind you-”

“No!” Cried Swansilhilde. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She could have died.  
“A thousand times no-mother!” She buried her face in her hands.

“Ah-ha,” jeered Queen Filomena “You can’t know that you won’t fall in love if you don’t know what your true love looks like then, can you?”

Swansilhilde thought for a moment, what did love look anyway? She supposed it looked something like her parents. They were well-suited to each other, although not outwardly affectionate. They were willing to go to great lengths for one another- they seemed to know what the other was thinking. Could it have been a product of being together for so long? Swansilhilde had finally found an area where no amount of field research would have done her any good- the horrors of romantic love. Without thinking she’d made a disgusted face.

“Oh come now.” scolded her mother.

“Did you know you loved father?” Swansilhilde asked suddenly. Her mother squeezed her shoulder, bringing their cheeks together.

“Oh of course I loved him! I loved him madly; I couldn’t bear to be apart from him.”  
Swansilhilde was at her limit- if she blushed any harder she’d have been stained red. “Did he love you? Had he interviewed other suitors? Had you met with other noblemen?” She had opened the floodgates, and the questions wouldn’t stop rolling out.

Her mother paused suddenly and heaved a great sigh “I suppose it’s time I tell you the truth then my swan.” She interlaced their fingers and strode with Swansilhilde out into the hall. “Filomena’s royal family has been the same for as long as we could remember. Selecting a suitor seemed so daunting to our ancestors- and the fear of being overtaken by Sina poisoning the bloodline was so great- that it was decided one member of the royal family would ascend the throne at a time. Their match would be...conceived with the strict purpose of serving them until death.”

“Conceived,” murmured Swansilhilde, her eyes going wide.

“Indeed,” beamed her mother “I was quite literally made for you father.”

Swansilhilde collapsed into a nearby chair, she couldn’t believe her ears.

“When you were born, my swan, we waited a while to know your interests, your hobbies- to see how well you progressed and in which subjects. A suitable pair were selected to produce a good-looking heir, and your perfect match is being raised as we speak. He’ll be perfect, a guaranteed match, everything he’s ever known has been tailored to make him love you. He lives to serve you, it’s all he knows.”

Swansilhilde’s stomach tightened nervously, a gorgeous man moulded to suit her perfectly? She wondered what he’d be like “Can he- can he carry an intelligent conversation? I don’t want a...a follower like a church or...something.”

Her mother put her hands on her hips “Does it look like I blindly follow your father? Do you think I’m worthy of holding a conversation with?”

Swansilhilde felt ten years younger, like a silly child being condescendingly talked down to. “Oh.” Was all she could muster.

 

“I’ve seen him you know,” said her mother smiling deviously “Very handsome young man. Particularly good at archery- his name is Augustus Archand.” She whispered.

Swansilhilde looked down at her hands, she imagined what he might be like- this Augustus. Did she even have a type? An ideal? Swansilhilde had never really paid attention to boys- not that she’d met very many her own age. She thought about the handsome Commander; how close he had been, and how nice it was to be so near a kind-faced, well-groomed man. She squeezed her skirts into a ball with her good hand.

“How did you like him-father- before you’d met? Had you spent a lifetime learning about his hobbies and skills as well?”

A somber expression overtook her mother, she sat down before Swansilhilde. Her strawberry blonde hair was tossed delicately over one shoulder, her pouty lips were pursed like she was trying not to cry. “I wasn’t the family’s first choice,” she said in a quiet voice, Swansilhilde’s face must have betrayed her shock as her mother gently took her hand “I was a twin. Second-born, unplanned- and wholly unexpected. My sister’s name was Rosanna, after our Great Lake. There wasn’t much to be done at that point, so we were raised side by side. My parents pretended to only have one daughter, and it was decided she’d be presented to your father when they came of age. Rosanna treated me terribly. She got the best of everything, all our parents’ attention- she was allowed to attend all the luxurious events. I loved her fiercely- I didn’t care.”

Swansilhilde said nothing, the two sat in silence for a while before her mother continued.

“Rosanna was my sun and moon. We shared a bed- she’s constantly kick me and berate me but I stuck hard and fast to her. What happened to her was a tragedy, I wish I could have undone it.”

Swansilhilde gazed into her mother’s eyes “What happened?” She whispered.

“It was decided Rosanna would be married to your father. The benefit of me being unknown was that I was free to make of my life what I wanted. I could see it: my sister, the proud Queen of Filomena, and myself: happily married to a nobleman of some kind. Quietly living out my days in Sina.”

“Sina?” Swansilhilde asked incredulously.

“Yes. Sina. People would have questions if a monarch and Lady bearing the same face were living practically side by side in Filomena.” Swansilhilde was confused- why would her mother have to hide? She opened her mouth to ask but her mother shook her head “A trick of fate- your father was wandering our estate when we ran into each other in the garden. He chose me. He begged my parents, he prayed in the temple of the Goddess night and day for weeks. He sent me flowers, commission oil paintings; he sat outside Rosanna’s window at night thinking it was mine and sang terrible love ballads off-key.” The two of them laughed “His will was done. We were married.”

“What happened to Rosanna?” Swansilhilde asked innocently.

“She was beheaded.” Came the grim reply “There cannot be another potential heir to the throne conceived. Rosanna could not be allowed to bear children-ever. Not even accidentally. She could not be made a part of the royal family by any means. Any and all competing siblings must be put to death.”

The word ‘death’ echoed down the hallway. Swansilhilde’s mother was staring off into the distance. Unconsciously they had gripped each others’ hands. It was uncomfortable to even think of speaking for a long time.

Finally Queen Filomena sighed “I was overjoyed when you were born. My dreams had come true. I only wished I could have done things over with Rosanna. Sent her to Sina, or ran off into the night together- anything. For those years all the insults she hurled at me only made me love her more; my heart aches at the prospect of being joined together in the great beyond.”

“What about Tanja, Ulrike and Karolina?” Swansilhilde asked suddenly, she was beginning to panic.

Her mother stroked her hand gently “You will ascend the throne. You will marry Augustus Archand, and produce an heir. Your sisters won’t be allowed to ascend the throne at any point. When your children become princes and princesses they’ll become Duchesses of the house of Filomena. They’ll be allowed to marry men of their choosing- all will be well.”

Swansilhilde gave her mother a hug. The emotional turmoil of the day was pulling her in too many directions at once, and she felt a steady stream of tears erupt from her. She buried her face in her mother’s bosom, staining her pink bodice with tears. A strangled sob escaped her.

Her mother began to hum again, and stroking her back gently she cooed in a calming voice. “There there, my swan. All will be well.”

**

Swansilhilde had finally made it to the hammam. She was sitting in a bath that resembled a lake. It could have fit thirty people in it at once. The steam rising from the water coiled and fell, obstructing her view of the carved pillars and tiled floors. Another giant fresco sat overhead; it looked like an expansive sky painted in forest green and deep blue. Fake vines and greenery had been placed on the sides of the bath.  
A small waterfall trickled overhead behind Swansilhilde; the noise it produced was a welcome distraction. A few statues loomed in the corners of the room: men with spears, the Goddess of Love, Jupiter and Venus personified. The gold on the arches that separated the bath house from the castle were dulled by the rose-scented steam erupting from every direction. Swansilhilde had the impression she had drifted into another universe- perhaps into the layer of a sleeping dragon.

She had sank in until her nose was covered. Her hair was floating around her like a giant black lily pad. She wagered she looked like some kind of swamp witch. She closed her eyes, the heat of the water was soothing her into a state of sleepiness she’d thought impossible earlier on. She brought her injured hand to the surface; all that was left was the remnant of a cut. Crescent-shaped, skin peeling slightly in some places, pale- it was sure to scar. Swansilhilde was unbothered. Blood, guts, injuries- all relative. All reminders of our time spent on Earth. She remembered Victor and his strange empty eye socket- she’d been entranced when Mia had described it to her. She’d been itching to see it herself.

“That’s morbid business.” She said but only bubbles made it to the surface.

She closed her eyes again, she was trying to picture Augustus Archand. Would she want him to be blonde? Red headed? Brown haired? Tall? Slender? Short? Stocky? She pictured herself, bed sheets wrapped coyly around her naked body as her handsome suitor came flouncing in through the bedroom door- but her fantasies were fruitless. What suitor? What did he look like? She tried to picture Commander Smith, and didn’t dare let Ivan Gressler cross her mind.

A strange man-mania had gripped her brain. She wanted to think about anything but the Commander’s warning and Marie Ziegler’s strange words. Oracles, civil unrest, sarcastic mothers and beheaded aunts all rushed her thoughts like paladins breaking down a door. All she could think about was the humiliating defeat suffered at her father’s hands. The faces of her sisters- older, wed, perhaps with-child. In her confusion she’d circled back to worrying about civil unrest; in the next instant she was again trying to focus on Augustus and what he might be like.

‘Mother says he’s very handsome’ she thought cheekily.

She pictured a handsome stranger sitting by her in her garden and felt a rush of heat- although it wasn’t from the bath water this time.

**

Erwin was looking out the window. They’d been given a small apartment set aside for family members of military personnel on their visits to the Capital. It had a table and two chairs, two small beds, and a lovely bathroom complete with tub. He had been eating a pomegranate, given to him by a very excited Hanji.

“They have fruit, beer, fish and sausage!” She’d explained excitedly “When was the last time you had a sausage? A beer sausage- what even is that? And this weird cabbage thing- they call it a sour-trout.”

“Sauerkraut.” He’d corrected, clearly amused.

“Whatever it is,” she’d said raucously “I like it!”

She’d knocked herself out with her enthusiasm, collapsing with her gear still on and a titan physique textbook sprawled open on her lap.  
Erwin was watching the people come and go outside. They looked like little bundled up dolls, teetering here and there as the wind buffeted them. A carriage towed by a brilliant cream-coloured horse passed by. A cat nearly avoided being run over by it, and hid under some garbage cans. 

Erwin sighed, his thoughts drifted back to Princess Swansilhilde. How had she taken his warning? He wondered. They hadn’t been arrested, nor had that strange accountant been back to harass him. They’d been ambushed by him a day prior. He’d appeared in the dead of night flanked by a couple of hooligans. He’d asked Erwin all manner of intrusive questions, and had produced a heavy-looking official badge of recognition from the King. Erwin had divulged everything he’d wanted to get out into the mainland- and it had. The plan had worked splendidly. Every unwilling participant had performed better than Erwin could have imagined. A haze was settling over the Capital, it was forcing people to think about the uncomfortable truth that they’d soon be hunted by Sina like a titan hunted humans.

Everybody had fulfilled their role except King Lukas. Erwin had hoped he’d show himself, but instead he’d been stuck with the girl. The warning meant to kick the King into a full frontal assault on Fritz and his yes-men had evidently not been delivered.

“Or at least not taken seriously.” Muttered Erwin.

He had a sick feeling his efforts were for naught. At the very least he’d gotten away with Levi- in one piece- alive. He’d be able to leave the blinding city with it’s half-hearted benevolence and return to a world where he was familiar with the ropes. Erwin frowned, what had the Princess done after he’d delivered his warning anyway? Was she keeping it to herself? Had King Lukas doubted its authenticity? If so, why?

It was a strange and frustrating back-and-forth this business of spreading rumours. ‘I prefer old-fashioned combat’ he thought smugly.

Hanji snored and rolled over, sending another pomegranate skittering to a halt beneath Erwin’s bed. He sighed heavily.


	7. Interludium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easing into the trial, Swansilhilde becomes aware of a notable absence in the castle: King Lukas has left. It doesn’t seem like anybody else has noticed his absence, but Swansilhilde does notice great pains have been taken to cast the illusion he’s still around. There can be no doubt he’s gone in search of the mysterious Doctor Jaeger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I wasn’t going to make a million word chapter with both the trial AND the morning of lol. Expect some Lukas POV soon, and more mentions of Grisha Jaeger! There isn’t a whole lot more to say about Filomena after this, so the transition into the usual SNK verse is coming. I’ll retroactively add notes to tell people where they can skip ahead to- no problem.
> 
> Probably going to add an Eren Jaeger prologue at the very beginning. I completely forgot it was in my original plans for the series. I’m a fool in man’s clothing what can I say- oops!
> 
> Also hope you’re enjoying my German chapter titles- I really thought Interlude was a German word, turns out it isn’t...

Swansilhilde had been awoken by a dull throbbing in her hand. She had been having the strangest dream. She was marrying a man whose face kept morphing before her very eyes. She was standing at the altar in the traditional garb; her curtain of beads hanging off her hat kept smacking her in the face. She peered into the crowd of onlookers, desperately searching for answers, but their faces had become strange and hazy as well.

She frowned, a strange nightmare to foreshadow the strange day ahead. Who could sit in judgement of somebody they’d never met- having been given only half the facts about why they were there in the first place? A Herculean task lay ahead of Swansilhilde; her father had poured all his faith in her, to ensure the trial went smoothly.  
He’d disappeared the night before, seemingly in a hurry, although Swansilhilde wasn’t quite sure where he’d gone. There was no doubt in her mind his impromptu trip had something to do with that Jaeger character. She’d been lucky to catch sight of King Lukas as she’d been exiting the hammam. Peering from behind a pillar she’d watched her father’s butler cast a great cloak over him, and with two Military Policemen by his side they’d exited by cover of darkness.

It was generally announced when the Royal Family came and went, and Swansilhilde had noticed their usual horses hadn’t been discharged from the stables; she’d seen them grazing around dawn. She’d have to make an effort to find her mother and see if she knew anything about the King’s coming and going. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by the throbbing of her hand once again; she hissed in pain. The sun was rising slowly, filling her room with a green light filtered through her curtains. She’d liked to have slept more, but the stinging of her hand was quickly outshining her drooping eyelids. She held her hand over her face and stared at the crescent-shaped scar. If it had been anybody else to cut themselves on the shards of a tea cup they’d have cried out in shock- but not Swansilhilde. You could have ripped Swansilhilde limb from limb, hacked away incessantly at her, ran her through with a sword even; if it meant ensuring a bright future for her people she’d have taken it all in stride.

“Physical pain is temporary.” She’d had that motto ingrained into her from a young age. Wielding a fencing blade on her unsteady legs, her tutor had swatted her over and over until she’d been red in the face and had tears filling up her mask. “Ascend to glory!” He’d cried, mercilessly beating her until she’d been unable to rise off the ground.

Swansilhilde let herself be moulded by the experience. Persevering through nursing wounds, frequent visits by the doctor, and her mother’s pleas to hold off on practicing swordplay, she’d finally catapulted her teacher off a bridge one day and into a small ravine. The tutor had been dismissed following the incident, his ego bruised from having been beaten by such a young girl; Swansilhilde’s political training had begun not long after. Her father’s praises had mended her spirit; she had been sure no son would have been able to knock her from her spot in the limelight.

Rising to her feet she peered out the window. The wind had picked up, but there seemed to be no sign of anything being amiss. Her father’s absence surely hadn’t been announced, but it didn’t seem like anybody had caught on, in any case. She suddenly wondered if his study could be found locked up or not- if there was time Swansilhilde would have ventured there to find out.  
With a sigh she sat by her window sill and watched the horses graze. They wandered aimlessly about with the rising sun casting strange, elongated shadows on the grass.  
**  
Breakfast was a noisy affair. The triplets had been chattering excitedly about ballroom dancing over oatmeal and hand-picked berries. Tanja kept knocking utensils over onto Karolina’s side of the table, and Ulrike was continuously trying to talk to Karolina by climbing over Tanja. Swansilhilde hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but the ruckus they’d been making; she was almost late in leaving having been absorbed in an interesting conversation about appropriate ballroom attire.

Mia had appeared with a shy-looking Charlotte at her side, practically heaving Swansilhilde from her chair and herding her to the castle entrance. Charlotte, toting Swansilhilde’s navy blue coat, was seemingly swallowed up by the fabric as she ran to match their pace. Mia had lovingly braided Swansilhilde’s hair that morning, and she could feel it bouncing around her ankles as she was unceremoniously carted to the grounds outside. The carriage was being loaded by a disgruntled looking footman as Mia barked commands at the gardeners to clear the way and open the gate. Swansilhilde shot Charlotte an apologetic look, figuring she’d must have gotten an earful from Mia for the previous night’s incident, and was happy to see her brighten slightly.  
Suddenly somebody placed a hand on Swansilhilde’s shoulder. “Safe travels my swan.” Came the sing-song voice of her mother.

Swansilhilde turned around and nearly tripped on her hair in excitement- this was just the person she was hoping to see. “Good morning.” She replied.

Queen Filomena’s light hair had been assembled in a loose bun, a few strands cascading freely to frame her face. She was wearing a pink satin dress and a cherry-red housecoat, her fingers adorned with rings and a glittering gold tiara nestled neatly in her hair. She smiled widely, taking Swansilhilde’s spindly hands in her own, they were very warm.

“Best of luck to you my swan, although I have no doubt you’ll do wonderfully today,” she cooed “You look splendid, I’ll have to give my compliments to Mia.”

Swansilhilde looked around briefly, making sure nobody was close enough to hear her. “Pray, have you seen father this morning?” She asked quietly.

A look of confusion spread across her mother’s face, but her nonchalant demeanour returned soon enough “I don’t believe I have, although I don’t doubt he’s in his study. He sent Mister Gressler away in such a hurry the other day- he almost bowled me over running out the front gate. I’m sure your father is catching up on his work.” She shrugged.

So she didn’t have any idea he was gone, thought Swansilhilde, how very interesting. She considered asking the footman if he’d seen the King that morning but thought it telling enough that her mother had no idea as to where he’d gone.

In any case she was soon stuffed into the carriage by Mia, and Swansilhilde and her footman tore off at a rather frantic pace. Queen Filomena could be seen from a distance, waving benignly with a handkerchief in-hand. Swansilhilde turned to look out the window for as long as she could before the castle faded from view; she drew the blinds closed and sighed.  
**  
Swansilhilde had arrived to the Capital on time. A throng of people had gathered outside the High Court’s building; a determined-looking bunch of Garrison, Military Police and Starszguard were stationed outside. They had formed a perimeter, brandishing shining bayonets at anybody in the crowd threatening to come too close. Several flags, some bearing the likeness of Wall Filomena and some, oddly enough, bearing the likeness of Wall Sina were being waved by onlookers. Children peeked out from playing between their parents’ legs, and street vendors were craning their necks to see the action from their carts and stands. The wave of murmurings from the crowd was almost deafening; it was so loud Swansilhilde’s footman had to yell over the noise to be heard. Once the Military Police had cleared the way for the carriage Swansilhilde was led through the front gate of the building.

The bronze bell of the nearby St. Rosemary of the Purification Church rang out, and some coloured streamers were tossed into the air by the crowd. People were yelling as Swansilhilde climbed the steps, they were obviously expecting the King as a confused murmur spread across the front row of onlookers. Swansilhilde turned around as a guard opened the door for her; she put her hand up in a benevolent greeting and smiled widely at her public. The cheers were earth-shattering, drowning the knell of St. Rosemary’s out completely. Swansilhilde turned just as swiftly as she’d arrived and ducking under the stoop of a flag pole she disappeared into the High Court’s building.

The inside was no different in terms of crowd size. Diplomats, politicians, members of various organizations and esteemed onlookers were standing around drinking merrily. Swansilhilde remembered how barren the building had been the day prior, so large and expansive it had been foreboding. She’d felt like a rabbit in an open field. There was no room to move now, the echoes of people’s voices were bouncing off the high dome ceilings; the once-dark parlour was overflowing with gentleman having rigorous discourse by the roar of a fire. Swansilhilde was flanked by two Military Policeman and a representative from the Starszguard. As she moved with difficulty through the crowded entrance they worked hard to create a small bubble of space around her. A maid scurried over and removed her coat, bowing so low Swansilhilde though she might tip over. The Military Police spun their bayonets around with a flourish and heaving a mighty bang onto the marble floor they announced Swansilhilde’s arrival.

“Announcing our most gracious leader, appointed by the divine will of the Goddess Filomena: Princess Swansilhilde Vogel Van Tannanbaum the First.” The melodious ring of the bronze bell sounded once again. It could be heard clearly, as a hush had fallen over the building.  
Men leaned over the balcony on the second floor to peer down at Swansilhilde, she heard some throat clearings in the crowd. The moment of silence was broken by the Military Police’s cry: “Offer you heart!”  
At once the people fell to their knees, bowing their heads solemnly with their hand on their heart. Swansilhilde curtsied politely and the people returned to their conversations. The fast-paced mutterings and raucous drinking resumed soon enough and Swansilhilde felt like she would be swept up in a wave of deafening chatter. She was approached by many; they shook her hand and stared at her inquisitively, they seemed to want to ask where the King was but thought better of it and instead bowed their heads as she passed.

Swansilhilde finally found herself alone in a small drawing room. There was a splintered-looking wooden staircase leading up to the entrance of the courthouse. A small panelled door, chained with an impressive-looking lock, barred the entrance to the jailhouse below. Swansilhilde’s heart skipped a beat in anticipation- her mysterious criminal was beneath her feet. The Military Police had left her in the care of a solemn faced maid to be dressed in the High Court’s robes. Swansilhilde shed her voluminous royal blue skirts, shivering in her undergarments as a draft hit her. She had come in wearing a large pearl brooch, which she now clenched tightly in her fist. The maid was a woman of few words, and only muttered to herself occasionally in a voice too low for Swansilhilde to understand. She was put in a modest black gown, her braid spiraled up into a bun at the back of her head, and her crown nestled back into her black hair; its lone diamond sparkled in the candle light. A tight golden net was placed around the bun, and the court’s rich purple robes were secured around Swansilhilde- complete with white ruffles spilling out of her sleeves and neckline. The court’s handkerchief was fastened snugly against her neck and Swansilhilde secured it in place with her pearl brooch. The maid looked none too pleased at the embellishment as her stony eyes passed up and down Swansilhilde; Swansilhilde wagered the stocky little woman had been dressing the High Court for generations. There came a knock on the door and the maid gave a kind of grunt; with a short, stiff bow she exited the room.

Swansilhilde smoothed down the front of her robes, she looked into a mirror propped up against the wall. ‘Quite impressive-looking.’ She thought smugly.

There came a second, more urgent knock at the door and Swansilhilde cleared her throat “Come in.” She said.

In strode Commander Smith. He was wearing the usual Survey Corps uniform with the addition of a smart green cape with his military’s sigil on it. His hair had been slicked back and he seemed freshly shaven. His face was as serious as ever; his blue eyes were fixed intently on Swansilhilde’s face. She was trying hard to keep her expression neutral, her stomach was twisted into nervous knots. Nobody spoke for a long while

“Princess,” began Commander Smith, bowing with his fist over his heart “Please forgive the intrusion.”

Swansilhilde nodded her head in reply “No matter at all. What seems to be the problem Commander?”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he’d wanted to smile “No problem my Lady. I wanted to congratulate you myself on the proceedings today. I don’t suppose I had time during our last meeting to mention how honoured I am the delegates from Sina will be in your presence this afternoon.”

‘Nor,’ he thought ‘have I had a chance to ask what effect my warning’s had on you.’  
Swansilhilde’s face was a mask of seriousness “I wasn’t aware your party had brought any delegates.”

“They arrived this morning, they were sent for by your High Court. All in the interest of having witnesses for our records.” Erwin was lying of course- he’d sent for them himself. He wanted the High Court to have no doubt King Fritz was privy to what he was doing in Filomena. Fritz would find out soon enough, he thought, but it would be too late to do anything about it.

Swansilhilde’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “I see.” She wouldn’t have put it past Schmitt to have delegates sent over. Whatever he was up to she was sure it must have been the underhanded doing of King Fritz. She recalled her father’s story about the wallists closing in on them, a small faction being funded by a mysterious benefactor. There was no doubt as to who it could have been.

Commander Smith took a step closer and Swansilhilde felt herself back up defensively “One more urgent matter I’m afraid,” he said “I don’t suppose the King has been alerted to any unpleasantness?”

Swansilhilde’s eyes fell on a fire poker up against the wall. If the Commander continued his march ahead she wagered she had time to snatch it and wield it. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said smoothly “What unpleasantness might that be, Commander?”

Erwin nodded curtly “Very well,” he said resignedly “I’ll see you in the High Court then Princess.”

Just as he had done in the Ringelblume Hotel, Erwin Smith turned swiftly on his heels and strode confidently out the door as if nothing had taken place. Swansilhilde stared at the empty door furiously. “The nerve.” She muttered.

**  
“So?” Hanji asked, perched on a dusty stool “How’d she take it?”

Erwin sighed, he swished his glass of port around absentmindedly; finally he put it on the table, resolving not to drink it.

“Well enough.” He murmured.

Hanji was fiddling with her green military-issued cape “I guess she took it as well as she could. What do you make of it though? She seemed eager enough to accept your congratulations.” She snorted.

Erwin gazed out the window. A veritable mob had formed, they were excitedly peering into the High Court building from every angle- every balcony and carriage and fruit stand. The Military Police were holding a firm line. The zealousness of the people was alarming; Erwin had watched Princess Swansilhilde greet her public graciously at the door, the uproarious cheers had been staggering. A harmony of the national anthem- bellowed from every open window and door- had followed suit as she’d disappeared through the door. This surely felt like new and uncharted land, although Erwin wished he could see more of it.

“She seems decent enough.” He said at last “I don’t think she takes it too personally that everybody is wagering on the King being here.” 

Hanji hummed thoughtfully. They’d been afforded a peaceful corner of the High Court building. It was a storage space now in use as a makeshift bar. Old furniture had been cast to one side, a large window sat on the other, and some open bottles of liquor- ready to be served- had been left behind. Erwin looked at Hanji, she was balancing a silver tray on her hand like a busboy, she was blissfully unaware of what they were really doing in Filomena. Erwin had considered telling her about the warning he’d resolved to deliver for quite some time. He’d loomed over her as she slept, calculating, tracing the lines of her face with his eyes as if searching for the mark of treachery. Deep down there wasn’t any shadow of a doubt that Hanji Zoe would have kept any terrible plot Erwin could have come up with a secret. She was fiercely loyal to the betterment of humanity; she’d never faltered nor allowed herself to be led astray no matter which sweet-talking politician had accosted her. Erwin’s dilemma lay in the fact that if he were to be prosecuted for his treachery against the crown, his fellow soldiers would be rounded up and promptly executed alongside him. He would protect Hanji by keeping her as ignorant as possible. He’d drafted countless fake letters and mailed them to himself; falsified military documents and the like to place Hanji in the perfect position to feign innocence. There wouldn’t be a scrap of evidence to link her to his shady dealings, but there would be the entire envoy they’d arrived with to attest to the fact they were here on (what they thought was) King-sanctioned business. 

Erwin had already found the perfect co conspirator in any case. He was shackled in the jailhouse below as they spoke. Banking on Swansilhilde’s merciful nature was an ambitious gamble, but Erwin had faith he’d make it out with the little man in one piece. Primed to offer him an interesting ultimatum, he’d rope into him whatever treachery Erwin could imagine. He’d make him offer his heart over pain of death. 

Hanji had graduated to pouring herself generous helpings of whisky; she was chattering excitedly about the crowd outside their window. Erwin looked at her tenderly, for as long as she could be self sufficient enough to remain alive he’d ensure her a smooth passage back into Sina.  
‘What is this, some semblance of friendship?’ He thought sarcastically ‘Suppose that too is all for the greater good.’


	8. Aller Guten Dinge Sind Drei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swansilhilde’s time to preside over the trial of the mysterious Mister Levi has finally come. The whole of the city of Carolingian has gathered to the trial of the century; with Erwin Smith and Hanji Zoe serving as it’s unwieldy puppeteers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it’s been a while..I moved cities, finished an internship, found a job and re entered college since I started this fic! I hope I have more time to write and edit.. I spent some time re contextualizing myself on Swansilhilde, one of her main characterizations is that she’s a bit of a helpless virgin. I’m very inspired by the phantom of the opera, and especially Carmina Burana in terms of the type of person she is right now. It’ll be subject to change as the story progresses but 17 year old Swannie is just a horny dummy doing her best and living the most idealistic life possible rn. 
> 
> Side note, she’s pretty far removed from myself, I don’t want people to think this is a self insert fic where I have Levi fall in love with me (although it did start that way when I was like 15 writing this stuff). Swansilhilde will have a full love interest in the form of Augustus Archand, and I’m using Levi as a plot device to get across how weirdly virginal and ~pure~ Swannie is. (P.p.s I’m totally an eruri shipper!)
> 
> *edit: re uploaded for some slight syntax changes- I think I found a format that works for when characters are thinking about stuff. AO3 won’t let me italicize for some reason..
> 
> Title translation: All good things come in threes (get it? Cause Hanji, erwin and swansilhilde)

King Lukas had been riding for hours. He’d watched the sun rise high in the sky, its warmth now cascaded down onto the wasteland that surrounded him. There wasn’t anything to behold in this area of Filomena, it was simply a field where the hunt was held once a year. Lukas’s trusty young Page was riding by his side, they were flanked by two high-ranking Military Policemen. The blonde Page was sweating in his cloak; they were being beaten down by the sunlight like insects under a magnifying glass. Lukas called back at him; the Page was riding with a map clenched firmly in one hand. He extended his arm high in the air and the entire party came to a gradual halt.

The Page dismounted, his eyebrows were knit together in concentration. “The hatch is around here somewhere.” He muttered.

Running a hand over a patch of scorched earth, his face lit up with a grin and he closed his fist around something. “I’ve found it my King!”

Lukas nodded solemnly. “Good on you Thomas, my boy.” 

Thomas’s eyes, one blue and one green, were glittering in the sunlight.

They’d found the secret hatch into the tunnels that connected Sina and Filomena, but this entrance had been built specially for the Royal Family in case of emergency. Lukas grit his teeth, he knew what emergency specifically: they would allow for a select few members to be spared should titans break down the wall. It seemed unfair, but he regarded it as a necessary evil to allow the sovereigns to flee with little regard to the population at large.  
Thomas, aided by the Military Policemen, was desperately trying to pry the hatch open.  
“We’ll have to ease the horses in around the passage at Hanging Man's Cave,” growled one of the policemen “It’s another hour’s journey, but I reckon Strauss will make good time. It leads a little way off from the course you’re taking but it’ll merge with the principal tunnels easily enough.”  
The other policeman heaved a sigh and stroked his moustache thoughtfully “Suppose it’d have to be me. Weimaraner over here can’t ride a horse to save his life.”  
The bickering went on and Thomas laughed along at first, but stopped when he’d caught Lukas’s stern gaze. They retreated to find something to pry the hatch open from their saddlebags.

Lukas looked at the Wall Filomena afar off. It was weakening with age, he knew it. The years hadn’t been kind to it, and the water of their Great Lake Rossanna was eroding away the ancient stones. Lukas’s forefathers’ attempts for reparation had been in vain, wallists from Sina would veto their requests to have parts of the wall changed. Fritz was no doubt biding his time, he thought bitterly, until a lucky titan hit the right spot and brought the wall to its knees. Lukas often feared he’d be the last of Filomena’s rulers; he foresaw a shaky and unstable government waiting for Swansilhilde. She was capable enough, this was for certain, but years of unchecked tensions would halt any progress she’d attempt to make. The air was heavy with unspoken concerns wherever Lukas went, and the prying eyes of those who wished to harm him followed his family constantly. The only place he felt safe was his study, and even then, the sight of the decaying wall in the distance caused him such a pang of grief he could have collapsed. He could count on his fingers the members of his military that were truly considerable as loyal, and if the plunge into chaos continued he wagered even they would abandon him.

What was the job of the King? Self-sufficiency? Loyalty to his family? Loyalty to the crown? His Father before him had passed on all the knowledge he could. Lukas had been taught to be wise, firm, and uncompromising when it came to the safety of the people. “The King,” his father had told him on his deathbed “Is the peoples’ last defence against the horrors outside these walls. Our people look upon us as though benevolent messengers of Heaven. Don’t squander their faith.”

Faith, however, was sorely lacking nowadays. Swansilhilde was beloved by their people; her likeness was scattered across Filomena: statues, plaques, paintings, etchings, postcards and stamps purchasable all the way in Dresden. Lukas was quickly learning the zeal of the people meant nothing; spotting a weakness in having a female heir, Lukas’s enemies were making haste in their plans to be rid of him. His was a nation in decline.

Dresden, the home of the common folk, was quickly being blanketed by a wave of crime. Food was often scarce, resources were few, and a general sense of disloyalty and unease with regards to the crown was infecting the population. Sina was restricting their imports, starving out the weak: the elderly, the pregnant, the sick and the young. Politicians and noblemen squandered their time in Carolingian, oblivious to the fact Dresden was quickly becoming overcrowded and riddled with corrupt Garrison officers. Gressler often reported the growing number of gangs, he’d done all he could to mow down various leaders and splinter groups, but Filomena’s common folk were in trouble nonetheless. Lukas supposed he deserved the great reckoning that was coming, how had things gotten so out of hand? He hadn’t had the heart to tell Swansilhilde the true nature of the happenings in Dresden. He could tiptoe around the facts no longer, her mother was pressuring for her marriage to be brought about soon; her coronation would follow shortly after. She would come to know what a failure her poor father was; the loving twinkle in her would fade to a solemn gleam, and King Lukas’s heart would split in two.

How long could they be allowed to exist this way before Filomena was utterly destroyed? He needed to find Grisha Jaeger. If Lukas could not find a way to shelter his people he would manufacture one. Rumours as old as time, recorded in rotting books in Lukas’s study, told tales of a time before the existence of titans. Strange shape-shifting humans; bred selectively by mad scientists; Created with the express purpose of driving humans into safety within towering walls. There were few who believed the stories to be true; a very ambitious Grisha Jaeger had taken it upon himself to sort the falsehoods from the science.

“I’ll create a titan,” he’d told Lukas the last time they’d seen each other- the night before Lukas’s coronation “I’ll create one unlike any ever seen in this world.”

Lukas had been a naive prince at the time; he’d feared his childhood friend had gone mad. He remembered sending Gressler after Jaeger years later, when he’d first come to terms with the irreparable state of his Wall Filomena. “He’s married, gone underground,” that’s what Gressler had told him “Impossible to find- best to give up. His lab’s been destroyed. The men working for him have been executed by King Fritz; we have reason to believe the King has seized the methods to turn humans into titans.”

The page had returned triumphant, the hatch lay open before the men. It was emitting a strong smell of mildew and rot. Lukas peered into the page’s eyes, one was green and one was gold, they were gazing excitedly back. He was nothing more than a child blinded by loyalty; Lukas wondered if he’d return from their expedition in one piece. They were off to Dresden’s underground- an underground shared with the scum from Sina. No doubt they’d catch sight of one of Jaeger’s co conspirators there. It was rather underhanded, but Gressler couldn’t be expected to do all the leg work alone; in any case he’d been sent after Grisha via the surface. He’d journey headlong to Shinganshina and threaten as many people as it took to track the elusive Grisha Jaeger down. Lukas had given his blessing for Gressler to commit general mayhem as he saw fit. “Whatever it takes.” He’d told him.

“We must make haste,” Lukas announced “We’ll return by the morrow at sunset.”

“Aye sir, I’ll circle around Hanging Man’s Cave with the horses.” Saluted the moustached soldier.

The trial would be distracting enough that nobody would notice his absence. He wondered if Swansilhilde had caught on to the fact he’d gone. He’d taken many precautions so nobody could be the wiser, but he’d had a nagging feeling she’d sniff out the truth. She was her father’s daughter after all.

Amid the braying of the horses the men descended into the darkness.

**

The courthouse was packed to bursting.The doors had been left open to accommodate the huge amount of spectators that had arrived. There hadn’t been a cause worthy of the High Court’s attention in years; even the oldest nobleman couldn’t remember when such a heinous matter would have had to have been brought to the peoples’ attention like this. Nobody had any information on why there seemed to be a sudden influx of military men from Sina, and a rumour had begun circulating that they’d even brought along a strange bespectacled woman.

Pamphlets had circulated assuring the Carolingian people the matter was simply regarding a particularly unruly political prisoner. Everybody was holding their breath in anticipation for the High Court’s vote; the main event would have been the beheading of the mysterious prisoner. It had been many years since corporal punishment had been inacted. The last person who had lost their life at the High Court’s hands had been a certain Duke accused of murdering his ten sisters in an effort to secure the family fortune. He’d been hung by the neck at dawn, and people had feverishly fought to view the atrocity; visitors had made their way from all walks of life- even Dresden. Back then Dresden had had a rather noble reputation, the people were common folk but could be considered comfortably middle class. These days the common population would not have been allowed to set foot in Carolingian, lest they invite with them unsavoury criminal characters. The gate dividing the two classes had been significantly reinforced over time, it was impossible to think a common person would have been allowed to slip into the Capital.

So the masses had arrived, half intrigued by the case and half intrigued by the glamour of the foreign criminal. The plot only thickened as the King’s absence threw the assembled crowd further into confusion. Their beloved Princess Swansilhilde had appeared in his stead: beautiful, glittering, demure, and all-powerful. Questions had begun to fly as to why she would have come alone, some theorized it was almost time for her to be crowned Queen. “Unmarried?” The retorts had come; rumours swirling about the state of the Princess’s personhood were blazing through the throngs of people like wildfire.

The Court was overheated thanks to the bodies packed therein, some were fanning themselves wildly; others had returned to their estates, sitting by open windows and listening to the trial broadcasted over ancient-looking transmission boxes. 

Swansilhilde strode in behind the parade of High Court officials. Justice Ziegler had shot her a brief conspiratorial look, but seemed awfully resigned now. She had barely looked in Swansilhilde’s direction, alternating between looking fearfully at Justice Schmitt and following Justice Krause around like a withering shadow.  
They were seated in a large wooden balcony; they sat in mock-thrones which were evenly spaced. Far below them was a platform where the accused would stand, made to gaze up at them as though they were Gods. There was a divide between the accused and the crowd of seated onlookers in the form of a long wooden bannister with a single swinging door. The aisle that connected the far exit was to be used by the executioner if- or when- the time came. It led straight outside where the prisoner would be tied to a mast for all to see. There was a stone path to the town square, where a wooden gallow was waiting for the unfortunate soul. The balcony adjacent to the High Court housed standing nobleman of all sorts, the doors that connected it to the area Swansilhilde and Gressler had been made to roam had been swung wide open. Swansilhilde could feel a small breeze from the open windows behind the herds of gentleman. She’d been made to sit at the far right (prisoner’s left) of their balcony. Justice Schmitt occupied the middle seat, Justice Gaetner at his left, followed by Krause and Ziegler. Swansilhilde’s only buffer between her and Schmitt was the burly form of Justice Fuchs. He seemed to be relishing the attention from the onlookers, smiling contentedly to himself; Swansilhilde had to suppress her urge to roll her eyes. Hard.

She could make out Erwin Smith in the frontmost pew, seated beside a brown-haired woman sitting in rapt attention. His hands were folded together before him, his elbows resting on his knees. Swansilhilde couldn’t see his face clearly but she felt his eyes on him. Beneath her robes she clenched her fist; how nice it must be to pin your hopes on somebody else, she thought, having all your plans falling through at the expense of others. She could have throttled him with her bare hands for his insolence.

The crowd was shushed as a Page trotted smartly through the door at the far end of the criminal’s platform. Behind him two Military Policemen were dragging along a man of short stature, shackled with his head lolling about.

“Hear ye, esteemed guests of the High Court of Filomena,” began the page with a cry “We are gathered here today to witness the passing of judgement on an enemy of the great Kingdom of King Fritz; 315th monarch of the Great Wall Sina.” The criminal was wrestled into the spotlight, the page had continued going on about something or other but Swansilhilde had stopped paying attention. She was leaning forward as far as she could, desperately trying to have a glance at the man’s face.

“Levi!” Cried the page, and the man looked up squarely into Swansilhilde’s eyes.

She was floating. She couldn’t hear anything, she couldn’t feel herself seated in her chair, she couldn’t even have told you were she was in that moment. Her mother’s voice echoed in her ear “Do you know what love looks like?”  
She was staring into deep set grey-blue eyes; Levi had already ripped his gaze away from her but Swansilhilde found herself looking back at him, aimlessly. Her daydreams of her future husband were beginning to take form; her imaginary spouse had Levi’s face in her mind’s eye. She felt like she could finally tell her mother what kind of man she desired. 

“That’s the kind!” She wanted to shout at nobody in particular “I want him!”

She wished she had absolute power over the High Court. She wished she could sentence somebody spending the rest of their lives at her side. Her vision was laser focused on the annoyed-looking little convict. She didn’t care about his emaciated form, his small stature or his unruly hair- she would have accepted him. She’d take him as he was then, like a beautiful uncut gem. Her longing was pulling her to a distant planet; she probably wouldn’t even have been able to tell you her own name if she’d been asked. The Goddess of Love, the patron Goddess of her homeland, she had so long attributed her to a tall tale made up by humans. At once she believed wholeheartedly in the Goddess Filomena’s powers; her mythical golden arrow, responsible for piercing the hearts of prospective lovers, had struck Swansilhilde and split her own heart in half. A terrible yearning was building inside; Swansilhilde longed to know if Levi was feeling the same erratic mix of emotions that had now come over her.  
Schmitt had been saying something in a haughty tone of voice, and Swansilhilde was only brought out of her reverie when she heard the word “behead.”

“Do you understand,” Justice Ziegler was now asking “If this court finds you guilty Mr. Levi, you will be swiftly beheaded at dawn tomorrow. If no such conclusion is reached you will be allowed to return to Sina.”

Levi seemed to be weighing his options; he reminded Swansilhilde of a caged bird. His eyes kept darting to possible escapes: the doors, the windows, the balcony. He seemed to understand his position, and gazing steadily back at Justice Ziegler he nodded solemnly “I do.” His response wrung out.

Swansilhilde stopped herself from clutching her heart- that voice! Her mind was running away with her, her fantasies were taking shape as clearly as she could see the crowds of people in front of her. She could hear Levi’s “I do” at the altar; he’d push the beads of her headdress from in front of her face and plant a gentle kiss on her lips and-  
Swansilhilde was ripped out of her fantasy by somebody calling her name. Schmitt was clearing his throat, clearly incensed, “Princess Swansilhilde, your vow?” He barked.

Swansilhilde cleared her throat, she was glad there weren’t many people close enough to see her face. She was sure her expression must have been ridiculous. “I, Princess Swansilhilde Vogel Van Tannanbaum the First, appointed the divine right through the mercy of our Goddess and saviour the most gracious Filomena hereby vow to pass fair judgement over the prisoner before me. I hereby allow these proceedings to continue as planned.” There was a beat of silence, Swansilhilde nodded “You may be seated.”

A cacophony of chairs scraping the floor sounded out, with the members of the High Court adjusted their robes and being seated last. Swansilhilde caught a glimpse of Justice Ziegler, she was giving her a rather proud and matronly look over Justice Gaetner’s shoulder.

“Very well,” began Justice Schmitt, clearing his throat “The criminal Levi is hereby charged with Grand Heresy: he is charged with having used military-issued equipment without proper training or permission; grand theft of property of Sina’s government; inciting misdemeanours in the criminal underground, conspiracy to insight misdemeanours, and conspiracy to commit crimes against the crown.” There was a hushed murmur that spread about the room. Levi looked calm enough, if not incredibly bored.

Erwin, focused on the High Court from the first row, could feel himself begin to sweat- although he doubted it was from the heat. There was a lump forming in his throat, his eyes flashed from Levi’s back to Swansilhilde’s face; her expression was indistinguishable due to her being so high up, but Erwin was of the idea she too was feeling pressured. He was developing a growing dislike for Justice Schmitt; he found him overly confident, overly haughty and overly enjoying the limelight.  
Hanji must have agreed because she’d given a snort and leaned over surreptitiously “Seems real slimy doesn’t he?” She murmured “That Princess of theirs though, she sure seems a little young to be passing judgement on people, no?”

Erwin sighed through his nose “I’m afraid it’s the best I could do.” He murmured back.

Hanji let out a quiet laugh “You never run out of energy to sass me, do ya?” She sighed.

“How do you plead?” Schmitt was demanding of Levi.

Levi was gazing defiantly at the Justices, Swansilhilde’s heart was pounding so hard she could hear her blood like a mighty river in her ears. She wondered if he could see very much detail from where he stood. Levi managed a shrug, his shackled wrists clinking sharply. “Guilty.” He said, although it sounded like he was saying the punchline to a very funny joke.

The blonde had coached him on their way up from Sina. He’d been stuffed into a vegetable cart, hidden behind a thick taffeta curtain and gagged with a handkerchief. “The Court will look for any excuse to make you look like a villain.” He’d been told.

“Ain’t I the villain though?” Levi had muttered haughtily back. He’d earned himself a swat with the Commander’s newspaper.

“Don’t get smart- smart men are hung at dawn. I know it’s hard for you to conceive of but try to act meek. It’ll surprise them.”

Levi had blushed with anger but had fallen silent for the rest of the trek.

In the end the Justice did seem rather surprised. His face underwent a host of micro emotions, like a strategist settling on a new play- a new angle to exploit. His smug expression had returned in record time.

“I see,” came the old man’s drawl “Then you’re very much aware of the trouble you’ve caused down in Sina then? You’d intended to cause such a ruckus- seeing as how you’re well aware of your guilty disposition.”

Swansilhilde, Levi and Erwin shared a collective pang of fear in that moment. Swansilhilde turned to Erwin, for the first time since they’d met she found herself looking toward his blue doe-eyes for support.

 

Levi, ever silent, was gazing up at them. Justice Schmidt was prattling on about consequences and virtue, but Swansilhilde wasn’t paying attention. She’d felt the same as the previous night in the hammam. Desperately she tried to remember the fruits of her laborious studying with Mia, but all her brain could muster was half-baked daydreams of marital bliss. She wanted to shake her head like she’d seen Zelma the dog do after being caught in the rain, but instead she found herself boring a hole in a vacant chair with her stare. Suddenly the word “ODM” slipped past her reverie, and the gears of her mind began to turn.

Schmidt was poised over the railing, leaning like a bird of prey closing in on a baby hare. His eyes were glassy and wide; a victorious smile was twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Indeed,” he continued spectacularly “It is written, in the Tome of Law which governs Sina, theft from the military is of the highest offence to our society. The only recourse is the ultimate penance, which you seem to have acknowledged. You have plead guilty, after all.”

A murmur of agreement washed over the room, several portly diplomats were nodding in agreement.

“No.” Swansilhilde’s confident voice rang out “Sina’s Tome of Law was revised ten years ago.” Yes, she thought triumphantly, it’s all coming back to me.

She’d furiously written down in her notebook on that treacherous march back to the castle that the Tome had been revised- theft from the military in any capacity was punishable by the seizure of assets. Fritz was so all-consumed with greed he’d lifted the corporal punishment for that of bleeding dry the families of thieves.

“Thieves are hereby forever ordered to pay back the value of that which has been stolen,” she continued, keeping a defiant eye trained on Schmidt’s face “Levi is not of this kingdom, and must be made to follow the laws according to King Fritz’s domain.”

An even more raucous murmuring seized the room. Erwin felt himself relax slightly, heaving another sigh through his nose.

Schmidt blinked slowly “Indeed, although shouldn’t it be noted that in this case, those who wish to pay back the crown have considerably less assets than we’d like?”

Swansilhilde bit her lip, she’d heard Levi had come from a peasant status. It didn’t fare well for her case, and she found herself at another mental impasse.

“Mr Levi, pray tell, where is your origin of birth?” Schmidt asked lasciviously.

It was indeed true Levi had been born, and subsequently orphaned, in the underbelly of the capital Mitras. Subterranean cities, such as the one Levi had been born in, had fallen out of popularity in most territories and were now ruins. Few remained, although those in Mithras and Dresden had reputations to be melting pots of treachery and danger. Prostitutes, cartels, thieves and violent criminals were prohibited from entering the land beneath the sun; doomed instead to a life of squalid misery beneath the Earth. Swansilhilde had once read of such places in a book left unattended in the library. She’d been too young and entirely too shocked to learn the horrible nature of her nation’s underbelly. For days she’d held herself up in her room, consoled only by a heavily pregnant Queen Filomena. The tutor who’d left the book unattended had been unceremoniously cast out of the castle.

Levi’s head snapped down to the ground, he felt a heat rising through his temples; he was blushing furiously. It was embarrassing enough to have been caught like a common street dog and dragged to this glittering dollhouse of a capital. It was too pristine, too utopian, and entirely too idealistic for somebody as low as he was considered. Standing above him, the bi product of decadence and ignorance, a teenaged Princess laboring under the impression she knew what kind of person he was. The state of things, he thought, was laughable. 

The court was waiting for an answer, Levi would have to snap out of it soon enough. He grit his teeth and came out with it: “The Undergound. In Mitras.”

Some members of the audience recoiled, other sat in even more rapt attention. In her balcony Swansilhilde grimaced- she’d figured he’d have come from such a place. Her heart broke with a twang of pity; she remembered the harrowing research she’d done-in secret. Long hours in the library by candlelight, reading all she could about the underground structures which had been erected and then abandoned. She’d been consumed by questions, even considering cornering Mr Gressler and demanding to be told about what life was like in such a place. Under her court, she’d decided then, there would be no criminal class doomed to live beneath the surface. What an idealist she’d been as a child, but even now her resolve for a better tomorrow for the throngs of criminals burned brightly in her chest. Swansilhilde wanted to yell again, “It’s not fair!” She wanted to holler at the Justices.

“The Underground,” Schmidt continued, feigning thoughtfulness “I suppose you don’t have a varied wealth then- to pay off your debts to the crown?”

Levi snorted “I gave back the gear- not a scratch on it.” 

His insolence seemed to greatly please the justices, until now his silence had given him an air of genuine shame. Justice Fuchs stood up solemnly, he was wringing his hand as though concerned.

“Regrettably, it is not enough. If you are without considerable means, or without any means at all, the court will have to consider the addendum to the law. Furthermore, there is the issue of the grievous harm you’d done while using military equipment.” Justice Fuchs raised an eyebrow at Levi, who had once again cast his eyes downwards “I’m afraid the nature of this trial is not to assess the amount of overwhelming tax needing to be paid to the crown. You intended to use the ODM gear against surface-dwellers. This falls under the statute of high treason.”

Erwin’s ears were ringing, it wasn’t working out the way he’d wanted. He’d hoped the princess would have been able to sweep most of Levi’s offences under the rug. Perhaps assign him jail time, ample enough time for Erwin to stay in Filomena and properly warn the King. His strategy of buying time was no good, the headstrong Justices were marching- no- towing the entire procession down the road to corporal punishment. But why? It seemed like a disgusting show of strength to him, and to what ends would they take to assert their newfound power over Sina’s citizens? No, he thought bitterly, to what ends would they take the situation to prove they’re above the King? Life or death, everything is relative in regards to absolute control over people, municipalities, kingdoms or countries.

Erwin needed to buy time and re strategize. His plan was being ripped to tatters before his very eyes, and the monarch he’d half heartedly put all his faith in wasn’t performing as spectacularly as he’d of liked. Swansilhilde had become oddly stoic. He’d had his eyes trained on her for the entire procession. She looked like a lamb ready for the slaughter- gazing straight ahead like one of the many statue renditions of her.

“What’s going on?” Asked Hanji quietly “I thought you said the Princess had it in the bag?”

Erwin leaned back, taking stock of the crowded room. The trial was going on around him, but he’d been tuning out the general muttering. “I need time,” he murmured back to her “I need you to find an excuse to stop the trial.”

Hanji looked amused “How much time are we talking here?” She asked, clearly already plotting something.

Erwin pretended to be stifling a yawn, “I need to talk to the Princess.” He murmured behind his hand.

Hanji smiled widely and before Erwin knew what had happened she’d bowled herself over with a yelp. “Oh!” She cried suddenly, drawing the attention of some tight-lipped women in the row behind them “Did you see that- I think it was some kind of mouse.”

An uproar encapsulated the courthouse in an instant, the women stood up with yelps similar to Hanji’s; they were hopping and gathering their skirts in a panic. Their husbands were desperately trying to reign them in, and as their embarrassment grew the number of distracted people grew in size as well. Soon enough the Justice’s words were drowned out by the scrambling of the women, the clacking of moving chairs and the scuttling of polished shoes on marble. Swansilhilde snapped out of the panic which had seized her and sat down instinctively, she too was now wringing her hands frantically.

“Order!” Yelled Justice Fuchs, banging a gavel with such a fury it was cartoonish “We will have order! Court martial if you please- take the prisoner away.”

“My word,” muttered Justice Ziegler “I do hope there aren’t mice in the courthouse..”

Justice Schmidt crossed his arms in anger “What’s the meaning of this?” He yelled from the balcony “Martial, have somebody reign in this hysterical woman!” He was pointing down at the women causing a fuss, and as Swansilhilde peered down to take stock of the situation she noticed Erwin and his bespectacled friend slip out of the courthouse.

“We will have order-“ Justice Fuchs was still desperately trying to proclaim “We- martial! The Court will have a small recess and convene in twenty minutes!” His head was buried in his hands in resignation.

Swansilhilde excused herself, although nobody seemed to be paying very much attention; as the Justices filed off into their private chamber she rocketed down the stairs back to where she’d changed clothes. She opened the door a crack and peered out into the great hallway, where a comical scene of martials and guards were herding throngs of riled attendees. The two women who had started the scene were standing beside a pillar arguing with their husbands, who were feverishly pleading with them to calm down. Swansilhilde’s eyes travelled hungrily over every face she could spot from her hiding place, but there was no sign of Commander Smith.

“Looking for something?” A woman’s voice rang out behind her. Before she could cry out a hand had clapped itself over her mouth, and the door before her had been swiftly pushed shut by a large forearm. 

Swansilhilde spun round, wrenching the offending hand off of her mouth in a fury. “Don’t you dare!” She hissed, taking in the form of Commander and his brown haired friend. “What is the meaning of this!” She whispered as loudly and pointedly as she could.

The commander backed up and nodded curtly “My apologies, I simply don’t mean for us to be discovered. My associate has bought us some time before the Justices reconvene, I’m afraid we’ll have to re visit our strategy my liege.”

“Our strategy?” Swansilhilde asked incredulously “Whatever do you mean ‘ours’. You have no say in official business as far as I am concerned. You seem to forget yourself Commander.”

“You’re floundering out there,” came Hanji’s steady reply from her spot, leaning up against an abandoned fireplace “You’re gonna blow it.”

Swansilhilde’s mouth was moving but no words were coming out, she felt a furious blush creeping across her face. She took a steadying breath and met Hanji’s eyes at once. “I don’t think you gather who you’re speaking to. I suggest you adjust your tone when addressing the Princess of the Great Wall Filomena- lest your superiors hear about your mindless behaviour.” She was feigning the most regal air she could, inwardly the embarrassment was washing her head clean of coherent thoughts. She hoped they hadn’t noticed the girlish way she’d gawked at the prisoner. Swansilhilde kicked herself mentally.

“My lady,” Erwin said, bowing on one knee and clutching her thin fingers the way he’d done at the Ringelblum Hotel “Please forgive our insolence. You must understand the urgency of the situation; I beg you to help me plan for the Justices’ next move.”

Swansilhilde looked away, she was making intense eye contact with the fire poker again. “Very well.” She mumbled

Erwin rose and resigned himself to the corner with Hanji. Swansilhilde dusted off a small bench with her hand and sat down. From the folds of her robes she produced her notebook. “I snuck this in my bodice,” she announced proudly “I had a feeling Justice Schmidt would use some underhanded tactic or another. I can’t imagine what the haste to have your prisoner murdered is- although I suspect it would be to chase you out of Carolingian.”

Erwin sighed, peering over Swansilhilde’s shoulder at her notebook. “Indeed, I fear he’s more wise to my own tricks than I’d planned for. No doubt they’ve heard the rumours I worked so hard to spread. He’s orchestrating the court just so, in an effort to exercise absolute power. I suspect a man as slimy as that is behind most of the civil unrest.”

“My father wouldn’t let him get away with such a callous proceeding as this,” Swansilhilde said dreamily “if he were here.”

“If ifs and buts were candies and nuts...” snorted Hanji

Swansilhilde found herself sighing “We’re sorely lacking in time. Pray,” she looked up at Erwin “In Sina is there compulsory military service?”

Erwin rubbed his chin “How do you mean my princess?”

Swansilhilde folded her book thoughtfully in her lap, she had now gripped her own chin in thought. “There are certain capitals which require compulsory military service for peasants of the age of 18. A gentle push into a military career- as it were. Sufficed to say, we could sentence Levi to some kind of manual labor. He’d quite literally pay the fee for theft with his own body.”

“And with the addition of possibly dying a horrible death at the hands of a titan.” Erwin added in awe.

“An eye for an eye...of sorts.” Swansilhilde finished smartly.

Hanji smiled jovially “Well I’ll be. Guess the commander was right about you Princess.” She gave a something of a curtsy in Swansilhilde’s direction.

Swansilhilde huffed and stood up “Although I regret associating with you so...casually, commander.” She extended her hand towards him “I appreciate the ruckus you caused. I can admit I was in need of some re orientation.” She smiled.

Erwin nodded curtly and gave her a firm handshake. “Not much time now, Princess.” He nodded to Hanji and the two turned “We’ll make our way back to our seats, nobody should know we’ve spoken.”

“Aye.” Swansilhilde mustered, she was nervously gazing at the military personnel’s backs as they disappeared behind a thick curtain and up the winding staircase into darkness. She collapsed onto her stool again as if her legs had given out. Her hands were trembling from the effort of binding her notebook closed; her breath was shaky. Erwin had caught her moment of unpreparedness. She dreaded to think what could have happened if the commander hadn’t interrupted the proceedings. Swansilhilde’s mind couldn’t have been allowed to wander the way it had; she buried her head in her hands in the utmost embarrassment. She’d never felt so foolhardy and girlish in her life; she wished she could lock herself up in the dungeon below and hide, until her father returned to take the unsightly task off her hands.

Suddenly her head snapped up “The dungeon!” She hissed.

Yes, Levi would be there now, hidden from view and locked in the small jailhouse beneath her very feet. She scampered with difficulty (thanks to the gratuitous bulk of her robes) to the small chained door behind her. If she could get a good look at him- if only for a moment...

What will I do then? She asked herself, fiddling with the large brass lock. What difference could it possibly make?

Her body was forging ahead, despite her mind desperately screaming at her to return to the courtroom. 

Just a peak- I must have a few moments more, she argued in her mind.

She wanted to meet him, if only to verify whether or not he was truly worth the trouble she was going through. If nothing else but to prove he was a good person deserving of mercy. What did Commander Smith see in the lowly, boyish ODM thief she’d locked eyes with? She longed to know, she longed to find out from the source of all her recent troubles.

She spun around, fingers aching from trying to pry the lock apart. A familiar sight lent itself to her endeavours: the fire poker. Like a wild animal tearing from a cage she seized it, and with only a second of hesitation she pierced the shackles with the tip like a mighty javelin. The chains groaned and withered at once, falling away with only minimal ruckus. Swansilhilde pushed open the door, small enough to be for some kind of troll or Hobbit, and crept inside. For a few moments she could do nothing but feel around the freezing stone staircase in absolute darkness. She worried she’d wandered into some forgotten section of the towering edifice, until at last she saw the faintest light. She padded towards it as fast as she could, one hand gliding along the stones and one hand hiking her robes as high as they could go. ‘Please,’ she thought desperately ‘Don’t let me fall down these Goddess-forsaken stairs’.

A single torch cast a long shadow, but didn’t afford Swansilhilde very much light. She could see the end of the staircase, however. There was nothing in the jailhouse but a wooden table, a discarded tin mug and bars that extended from rustic ceiling to hard rocky floor. A single cell had been built- lopsided and roundish- into the cavern walls. It was big enough to house one prisoner behind its uneven wrought iron bars. Swansilhilde could make out a foot from the shadows. Somebody was sitting on the floor.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Swansilhilde clutched her robes around her as the dark and damp of the room crept into her bones. She was sure the pounding of her heart- like a deafening drum- would give away her position. She suddenly tripped on something, a chunk of metal lying on the floor. She’d kicked it into the wall, and the echoing of the clatter had scared her half to death.

“You come to clean this filthy place up or what?” Came a voice from inside the cell. She recognized it: bored, sarcastic, taunting. It was him.

Swansilhilde cleared her throat and crept closer “M-Mister Levi?” She half whispered.

There was a quiet shuffling and two pale hands gripped the bars of the cell. “A judge?” Came the incredulous reply.

Swansilhilde allowed herself to wander a few paces closer, her eyes widening despite her efforts to remain neutral. “I- It is I...Princess Swansilhilde.” She breathed.

She could see him now, leaning casually against the bars. His wrists were shackled to his own waist with hardly any wiggle room. Levi’s eyes were glowing in the feeble light of the candle somebody had left on the wooden table. He was peering at her with a level of concentration she’d never experienced. He seemed to be looking through her- wearing that intensely composed expression she’d seen commander Smith use constantly. 

“Princess Swansilhilde.” He repeated glumly.

She opened her mouth, but nothing escaped her lips. It was beautiful the way he’d said her name; he had mispronounced it surely, but she didn’t care. She wished she could be put to bed and woken up by such a charming voice every morning and night. Swansilhilde wanted to hear that voice ringing in her ears, whispering the kind of sweet nothings she’d read about in her storybooks. 

“Well?” He half-barked “You come here to taunt me or what?”

Swansilhilde felt wounded by the accusation, like a little bird impaled on a thorn bush. I could never, she thought dismally, I would never taunt you.

“I’ve come to deliver a message,” she began and forced herself to straighten up “I won’t let them hang you.” She’d given away her mysterious demeanour, as the words tumbled out with such an ardent desperation she found herself once again ashamed.

“Won’t let them huh?” He repeated, and she could tell he was craning his neck to see her “What good’ll that do me? That Commander’s more scheming than you lot- as soon as he’s done using me as a visa he’ll probably kill me himself.”

Swansilhilde shook her head, although she knew he couldn’t quite see her. She was standing just out of reach, obscured form the candle stick’s feeble light. 

“You’ll serve in the Training Corps.” She said.

“Ah.” He offered. 

For a while neither spoke, Swansilhilde wondered if she should have taken her leave. She seemed rooted to the spot by an insane desire to remain in Levi’s presence. If the guards came and retrieve him, she’d have a fair amount of explaining to do as to why she’d taken up shop in a dungeon.

“Come closer.” Came Levi’s command.

Swansilhilde held her breath, her hands had found her neck tie and were gripping it like a woman frightened to death. She inched into the light, purposely avoiding Levi’s gaze; she pretended to be inspecting something on the floor.

“Closer.” He beckoned.

Swansilhilde felt a peculiar heat travel down her legs. She furrowed her brow, wracking her brain for information about what to do in such a situation. She cleared her throat, and straightening herself to her full height she strode to the bars in a way which she considered most regal. Her usually composed spirit seemed to re-inhabit her body for a moment, and Swansilhilde felt oddly at ease. She was standing face to face with Levi now, meeting his heavy lidded gaze. Neither spoke, although she heard an excited hitch in his breath.

“What good are you hoping to accomplish on the road you’re on?” He demanded suddenly.

Swansilhilde frowned “You’d rather be dead then?”

“Sure,” Levi shrugged “Why would I want to be some uppity bitch’s pet project anyway?”

Swansilhilde was taken aback, and she stumbled backwards. She’d never heard such a word.

“You’re a filthy...bi product of all this wealth. This ‘shining’ shitty capital of yours- it’s all a big ploy to crap on the little guy ain’t it? I don’t trust you or that bushy eyebrows Smith guy.” Levi spat

“I won’t let you talk about us that way,” she retorted “Filomena is beautiful, Filomena is my home. I won’t let them-“

“Let ‘em what? Keep me as a prisoner? Chop my head off? If you’d release a rat down a sewer grate after you’ve dredged it up with a bucket do you call that doing the poor thing a favour?”

She stared defiantly at him “If that’s how you feel about us maybe you don’t deserve mercy.” Her tone was harsh, but Swansilhilde’s heart was bleeding. She felt as though she were being made to punish her darling, meek Karolina.

“There it is: blind patriotism,” Levi spat back at her, he had cracked a lopsided grin like he was laughing “How many more of us little guys do people like you gotta squash before you’re happy? Your lot loves to pretend you’re all about the betterment of humans. Gross.”

Swansilhilde had picked up the unmistakable sounds of guards’ heavy boots making their way down the corridor. She ran to the bars, making hard eye contact with Levi through them. Despite her sweat and her wildly blushing face she curled her hand around his, clutching the bars of his cell. His eyes widened but Swansilhilde held fast; in her most affirmative tone she managed the words “I have nothing to offer my people save my soul- I’ll offer my soul to humanity. I’ll offer it for you even if you won’t offer it for me.” She spun around and tore away towards the staircase.

“Let’s go young’in,” came the voice of the soldiers “Courts not done with you yet.”

Swansilhilde heard the clanking of the cell opening as she crawled up the stairs into her stifling little room. She stopped at the top, clutching her heart like she was going to vomit. It was too much excitement, being so near to somebody so captivating, she felt like her organs were going to spill out all at once.

So close, she sighed inwardly, It was like a picture book- close enough to feel his breath.

Swansilhilde ran a hand over her forehead “So close.” She whined.


	9. Kleine Schwester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swansilhilde’s work in Levi’s trial is grinding to a halt, and has left her with little hope about the future of the decadent Carolingian. Disillusioned by her gaudy people and dejected by the Justices’ prying eyes, Swansilhilde’s own fate now hangs precariously in the balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kleine Schwester means little sister in German.. I wanted Krause to share Swansilhilde’s blind love of their people. I think it’s interesting how people born into positions of power and people who are military men have the same blind drive for the national interest- for better or for worse. I think my fic has a lot to say about issues like leaving our childhood behind and thinking critically about our families and their political motivations (if they even have any) and I want to write an inspiring story that captures the overall serious desperation in SNK. It’s a story that has a lot to say on its own, and I think a good shoot off of the franchise should maintain the level of overall hopelessness in the plot.
> 
> A/N: I’m in a weird place these days, so if the chapters seem super grim that’s why. I’m also working on a couple of other things as well that I hope you’ll all like..

The civil unrest had only become aggravated as Swansilhilde had been led back onto the podium. She gazed, in a wide-eyed kind of way, at the general mayhem that continued to ensue. Usually ever prim and proper, a great ruckus had seized the crowd of Carolingians, and almost everyone in view seemed to be arguing about something or other. 

It took a moment to get the gents settled back into their seats; Swansilhilde could clearly make out the form of a certain Hanji Zoe, sitting up as straight as can be and shaking with the occasional snicker. 

“Right,” Justice Schmidt had huffed at last, fervently adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses “Mister Levi, it is of the court’s opinion you will be made to answer to the charge of high treason.”

He shot an odious glance at Levi, who had resigned himself to staring at the floor. “Be a good sport,” Erwin had barked at him in the tunnels “Or I’ll beat ya.” He had smiled, and Levi wondered if it was the uptight captain’s attempt at humour.

“What am I? A flea-ridden dog?” Levi had spat back from his fruit cart of a prison.

He’d only gotten Hanji Zoe’s taunting in return: “Arf arf!”

A righteous murmur was spreading through the crowd of spectators; it reached Swansilhilde’s ears like a persistent fruit fly. She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose, and instead resigned herself to staring at a pillar in the distance.

“The price of treason against the crown has been the same for many generations in Filomena. It is through divine providence that I must draw a verdict- Levi will be h-“

“Hugely, and terribly under represented.” Came Swansilhilde’s bold interruption. Justice Schmidt had such a rotten look on his sallow face, Swansilhilde gripped the hem of her robe in fear.

Nevertheless her voice rang clear as a church-bell as she came to Levi’s salvation. “Terribly represented indeed, if we don’t show the leniency characteristic of the fair and just Filomena court system.” Her sentence came out like a sigh, as though she’d used up all her energy fending off Justice Schmidt’s powerful gaze.

“Oh?” Came the reply from Justice Fuchs, who was staring up at her with a helpless expression- as though he’d been personally blindsided.

“The price for high treason is death.” Announced Swansilhilde, and the crowd let out a chagrined gasp so unanimous it seemed choreographed “However, prisoners cannot serve the death sentence until their debts to the crown are paid in full. Sina has a notoriously overpopulated prison system, and we are no-better equipped to house a foreign criminal.” She gave a meaningful look to Erwin, and she thought she could make out a nod of approval “Levi will pay his debts by way of hard labor: a lifetime in the Survey Corps.”

Justice Fuchs had resorted to banging his gavel repeatedly in an effort to calm the murmuring of the crowd. It was unclear whether they were impressed by Swansilhilde’s willingness to spare a criminal, or outraged by the thought of having a petty thief in their military. Justice Ziegler was craning her neck to look at her, her pouty lips pursed and her chained glasses hanging precariously off her nose.

“The court recognizes the need for just settlements of debts...but doubts the Princess’s willingness to recognize the certain- peril- that comes with allowing a criminal into the military.” 

Swansilhilde could feel a bead of sweat snaking its way down her face. Was Ziegler taunting her? Had it been her conniving double who had appeared at the Ringelblume hotel, with a terrible realization in store for her? Why was she suddenly resigned, peering with matronly concern at Swansilhilde with the same expression one uses to placate a crying child? A test- surely.

“The court will place Mister Levi in the custody of Captain Erwin Smith,” Swansilhilde’s eyes darted to Erwin’s seat “Until such a time as he deems Mister Levi’s service sufficient.”

Like a wave of groomed heads, the assembly turned in haste to stare at Erwin. Even Justice Schmidt’s steely eyes were peering at him (seemingly with great effort) as though trying to burn a hole where he sat.

“Captain Erwin Smith,” murmured Justice Gaetner with his raspy voice “Are you prepared to take on such a charge?”

Erwin stood up with a flourish, much to Swansilhilde’s annoyance, and bowed a little too theatrically before the court. “If the court wishes it I, Captain Smith, am prepared to shoulder the responsibility.”

The crowd murmured their agreement, and every man turned to his neighbour and clasped his hand in delight.

“Most impressive, he seems to have captured our audience from us.” Came Justice Gaetner’s sarcastic-sounding reply.

Swansilhilde took the opportunity to address the riled crowd, as the discourse seemed to be headed in a favourable direction. Even Justice Fuchs was seated, arms crossed and straight as a pillar holding the roof over the courtroom; he seemed to be deep in thought, stroking his stubble meaningfully. Swansilhilde peered at Justice Ziegler, her gaze still far away but her expression considerably softened. She seemed to be staring down at Levi, although trying to follow her gaze from where Swansilhilde was sitting was proving especially difficult.

“Very well,” Justice Schmidt barked, seemingly annoyed “If the good Captain would take charge of this thief- what of the charge for high treason? Will we have learned nothing then- of the consequences of opposing the crown.”

Like a bird of prey, Justice Gaetner smiled to reveal his gnarly teeth, and follow suit on Schmidt’s nasty thinking. “Indeed,” he squaked excitedly “If every criminal is given such leeway, think of how the rest of Paradis Island will laugh at us.” He licked his lips “We must make an example of the boy.”

Justice Krause, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet, was blushing furiously. He cleared his throat suddenly “I agree with the Princess. In the interest of having both needs met Mister Levi will be made to serve a penance, and sentenced to a gruesome death by the laws of nature. It is a known fact not many survive life outside the walls, or rather a life spent in close proximity to titan scum. I won’t wax poetic about the dangers of being a military man, although I will admit I am privy to them.”

He’d given a side long glance at the strangely catatonic-looking Justice Ziegler. Swansilhilde was trying to remember something she’d been told about the two of them...something said to her in an unattainable-seeming past life.

Swansilhilde weighed her options, she would have to strike now while the idea was still fresh in the minds of the masses. A peaceful Carolingian, a fair and just society, built on the backs of hard working people and not stagnant bourgeoisie men who wasted their time with frivolity. Not a petty class of people who looked down on Underground citizens like Levi, no, this was a most righteous society who by their Goddess-given right had earned the chance to cast judgement on others.

“Yes,” Swansilhilde found herself saying “Ours is a society that enjoys a life of creature comforts; all made possible by our brave soldiers in the Survey Corps. There is no need to appeal to the innate humanity and just mindset of the shining capital of Carolingian, and its esteemed court.”

The murmurs were vigorous now; the courtroom swayed like a vast ocean with its inhabitants moving merrily about. There was a steady hum of excitement as if a great Holy reckoning were to fall from the sky at any moment. How long had she been like them, Swansilhilde wondered. The past few days had been eye-opening, as if somebody had removed a heavy shroud form her vision and shown her the light of day for the first time. How many ignorant years had she gone through, believing Filomena to be a paradise on Earth? She was no better than a princess in her novels, convinced the ruling class was of only the noblest intentions. Sheltered, chaste, untainted, unweathered and quieted- quieted for so many years was she. Her father had hidden, whether he’d meant to or not, the horrors of real life from Swansilhilde. She’d been taught blind allegiance, no better than a bloated upper class citizen swaying excitedly in a courtroom that existed to preserve his disgustingly decadent way of life. She’d been failed, and as a result she’d failed her people in turn. How many Levis were there? Alone, unprotected, sullied and hopeless in the underground or in Dresden? There had to be hundreds, maybe millions. Swansilhilde felt as though she’d been cast into another body, a body with substance rather than a mask of subservience. All the wasted years floating through life like a doll, watching the years come and go behind the guise of blind allegiance; devotion to her father’s way of doing things.

I learned nothing, she thought bitterly, all those teachings- worthless.

Justice Schmidt was becoming undone, perhaps he sensed the revolutionary energy in the room. “Order!” He cried, seizing his own gavel and pounding fruitlessly at the guard rail “We will have order! Perhaps it hasn’t crossed the mind of the general public how fruitless our efforts will seem to King Fritz if we let the prisoner roam freely.”

“Indeed,” added Justice Gaetner, although much quieter and to the bench at large “It does nothing to help our image as a softened people to allow this one to come away with his head still attached.”

“It does not behoove us,” said a deadly calm Swansilhilde “to recklessly slaughter citizens of a hostile nation either.”

“Very well,” announced Justice Schmidt “as is customary, a vote will now be cast to decide the fate of Mister Levi. The council will retire until such a time as we have reached a decision. Mister Levi will be made to enlist in the Survey Corps to satisfy the need of just repayment and corporal punishment, lest he be beheaded at dawn for gross indecency towards the crown.” His tone, as well as his steely gaze, was pointed at Swansilhilde.

The council disbanded amongst the continued cacophony of the public; Swansilhilde shared a faraway glance with Erwin, who was still standing rapt at attention.

She could feel an uncomfortable cocktail of emotions searing her belly. Swansilhilde shuffled dutifully along behind the Justices, and as a sea of gentleman closed in on them to chatter incessantly she turned around and bolted down a dark corridor. Her feet pounded loudly on the marble floor as she tore along; the shadowy corridor had extra chairs and carts strewn about, and Swansilhilde tried and failed not to bump a few. Onward she sprinted, her breath was staggered and her heart was pounding anxiously. 

At last, she thought she could make out a light!

Swansilhilde had arrived at the backmost part of the building. Before her was a wall made entirely of windows, and the doors to a gilded balcony. One had been opened slightly and was letting in a welcomed breeze. Swansilhilde smiled despite herself, she was peering at the industrious streets of the city, watching the flags of her countrymen flying proudly. There was nothing in this corner of the building but a balcony, predominantly used for hauling supplies with a pulley system, or so she supposed. Swansilhilde clutched the front of her robes and sighed, it seemed as though the ordeal was finally coming to an end. Yes, she thought, soon everything would begin to make sense again. Time- she needed more time- to think, to assess, to contextualize herself. And maybe, she thought with a pang of guilt, to find herself a suitor before it was too late.

Swansilhilde’s moment of peace was suddenly broken.

“I saw you.” Rang a man’s voice.

Swansilhilde spun around, still gripping her robes. Justice Krause was standing behind her, his fiery hair was parted strangely and his cheeks were flushed as though he’d chased after Swansilhilde.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She barked, but it came out like the whimpering of a cornered animal.

“You went down there,” Justice Krause took a cautionary step forward and Swansilhilde felt herself recoil “to see that...criminal. Why?”

The question hung in the air. Swansilhilde backed up, now holding the balcony door handle for support. Why? She wondered, trying to find words that would make her sound less guilty than she felt. In that moment the criminal had seemed so intriguing, so alien, she couldn’t have helped herself. His eyes, like storm clouds, his pouty lips, his raven-black hair- it was all too intoxicating. Was that any excuse? She thought with chagrin, who in this world was too beautiful to die, after all?

“What do you want.” She demanded suddenly.

Justice Krause was staring at her as if she were a lunatic. He had a pitiful look in his eye, like he was looking at a bird with a crippled wing.

“Are you in on it then?” She asked, her tone harsher than she’d meant it “The sending of these secret messages- you and Ziegler seem awfully close.”

Krause sighed “I’m sorry, my princess. I tried to convince Mary it was all in vain; she won’t listen to reason. I don’t think anybody will anymore! We were expecting the King, I couldn’t-“ he took a breath “I can’t trust the future of our nation to a child who’s never been beyond our walls. I didn’t mean to burden you.”

Swansilhilde had never felt so dejected. A child? How dare he. There wasn’t a hint of remorse in his voice; he was chastising her as if she’d poked her nose where it didn’t belong.

“It’s too late.” Swansilhilde added quietly “My father knows everything. You’d do well to distance yourself from the guilty party before he does something about the corruption in Filomena.”

Swansilhilde knew she’d lied, there wasn’t any great cavalry coming. It would have been silly to even suggest it. The military didn’t act without first consulting the Court after all; who was she trying to convince- herself or Krause? He seemed to be closing in on her, that bewildered and pitiful look glued to his face. 

“Don’t touch me.” She demanded, suddenly very aware she was inches away from a terrible drop onto the streets below.

“Why did you go see him?” Krause demanded again, he was balling his fists in anger. “The only guilty-looking party here is you. Why would you go- in secret no less- to visit a prisoner from Sina? You’ve been communicating with Fritz haven’t you...”

Anton Krause’s voice was dripping with accusation and disappointment. Swansilhilde could see the infuriated expression of a man ready to strike in his eyes.

“Me?” She whispered incredulously “You think I...would...bring Fritz’s men here?”  
Krause bit his lip “Well?” He barked “I’m waiting for you to explain yourself!”

Swansilhilde wanted to scream; she wished to be allowed to return to her youth. She wanted to shake her childhood self until some semblance of sense came to her. Blind allegiance to her nation and her family had poisoned her childhood. It hadn’t mattered the hours she’d pooled her knowledge into helping Carolingian’s citizens, because here she was, being accused of plotting their destruction. Saying she was wounded wouldn’t have begun to cover it- Krause may as well have driven a stake into her still beating heart. She felt like the swan princess in her storybooks: stripped bare and persecuted despite a lifetime of piety.

“I...I don’t want him to be executed.” Swansilhilde slid to the floor and stared at her knees. Tears steadily hit the linoleum, and she brought her hand up to her face, but the unauthorized tears continued to fall. “It isn’t right. I wanted so much to believe we were better than this. I wanted to believe my father had our affairs under control.”

Krause ran a rugged hand through his hair “It is my greatest wish for you princess, that you could one day rule over a place as noble as you’ve described.”

Swansilhilde peered helplessly up at Krause “I’m sorry Justice...I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble for you.”

“No,” Krause sighed “The idyllic streets of Carolingian are...seductive to say the least. It’s difficult to have a grasp on the politics now. Mary Ziegler is unable to protect us,” he admitted “There isn’t much of her left now- only vague rambling and confused predictions. We’re at the mercy of Schmidt these days.”

Neither of the two spoke for a long while, and then Krause cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid our way of life is too comfortable, it’s rendered us all slaves to Carolingian’s desires.” He spat “If I’d known I was fighting so hard in the Survey Corps for this disgusting amount of leisure I’d have given myself up. Hell, maybe I would have helped Fritz destroy this place.”

“How strange I’ve become,” murmured Swansilhilde “I don’t understand why I valued trivial things the way I used to. Where is beauty, love and honor? Laid to waste here,” she gestured outside with her hand “While the people in the Underground are dying.”

Swansilhilde gathered herself and stood, she closed the balcony door with a bang and drowned out the sounds of mirth from outside.

“So now you know, it isn’t vile machinations that brought me to that dungeon today- rather the sheer curiosity-“

“Of a land unknown and unseen.” Krause chuckled.

Swansilhilde blushed “I suppose.”

She was suddenly made aware of Krause coming up behind her again and she spun around. Krause caught her in his arms and peered down at her “What to do now?” He whispered “I’ve run out of genius machinations myself. I wish I could say I trusted that Erwin fellow, but there isn’t a man alive who can stop Schmidt’s rebellion now.”

Krause’s eyes were glassy, his cheeks still bright and red, and his expression concerned. Swansilhilde felt a great deal of grief for the both of them; the two had clasped each other’s hands in desperation. She was suddenly made aware of the usual discomfort with having a man this close to her; while she had no disdain for Krause’s demeanour the way she did with Erwin or Gressler, there was certainly no attraction here like she had for Levi. Krause was as disillusioned and hopeless as she was, and they had finally come to roost together- desperately pondering. Swansilhilde smiled slightly, who pitied who more in this fool’s play about morals?

A play, she thought suddenly, she felt like the two had become actors in the world’s strangest drama. Human suffering felt so detached from Swansilhilde’s world she could barely believe any of the past few days had been real. It was all a dream, she hoped, and any minute now she’d awaken where her adventure had started: in a garden beneath the bright blue sky. A rogue thought was still nagging at her- there was something to be said about Ziegler and Krause as a pair. Yes, she’d heard a story of them long ago, a story of inspiring bravery.

“Anton,” Swansilhilde murmured, and Krause’s faraway look disappeared “Why are you so concerned what becomes of us? I’ll protect you, I’ll protect us all.”

Krause smiled “Kleine schwester,” he sighed “I fear there won’t be anything left for you to protect when the time comes. I wish I could make the future...brighter for you.”

“Come on now,” Swansilhilde chuckled “There’s always a point in history where things look grim isn’t there?”

A long heartbeat passed, and the pair stared quizzically into each other’s eyes. Swansilhilde wondered if the floor beneath her had disappeared; Krause’s strange passion was holding her captive, and she could do nothing but go limp in his arms.

Krause suddenly pulled away and gave Swansilhilde a curt bow “So there are grim, dark periods in time, my princess. For now have faith in me, I will vote to save your criminal’s life if you wish it. I suppose I came to the conclusion you were in cahoots to justify my own self-serving bloodlust. Alas, there isn’t anything in it for me to have Mister Levi executed.”

With a bright smile Krause turned on his heel and strode back into the gloom of the hallway. Swansilhilde stared dumbly after him. The balcony latch had come undone behind her, and the sounds of the many throngs of people were being carried into the courthouse by the wind.


	10. Fix Und Fertig Sein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Lukas is well on his way to tracking down the elusive Grisha Jaeger, and back at the Capital Justice Anton Krause desperately ponders Filomena’s situation. The great duo of Krause and Ziegler is laid bare, the very foundation of their relationship shook to its core. Time is not on Krause’s side, let alone on the side of the people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter means “I’m completely empty” or “I’m completely exhausted”. I think it works with the theme: exhausted and outdated methods of keeping a society afloat, Ziegler’s exhausted body, and Krause’s exhausted ideas. His thoughts should be scary enough in their own right. I recently stumbled upon the game Pathologic, and there’s a lot to unpack there about the question: who could you realistically bank your hopes of achieving utopia on?
> 
> You’ll notice my sweet nod to bloated populism (take that capitalism) and you can prob tell by now I’m a grad student with not much going on lol :P
> 
> Is anybody even reading this fic? Probably not, but let me know if you are!
> 
> Edit: this one is real short but mostly cause if I put the Grisha Jaeger stuff in here it’s gonna be LONG

Lukas had an inkling it must have been mid afternoon by now. They’d been scrounging around the tunnels to Shinganshina for most of the morning. The team was sweaty, hungry, and stony-faced.

“Not long now,” called the moustached soldier “Jaeger’s been seen comin’ this way.”

Beside him, Thomas was nervously wringing the map clasped in his hands.

“What if we don’t find him,” he kept muttering “What if we do?” He answered himself suddenly.

Lukas’s patience for Grisha’s great escape was running low. He’d wondered what his boyhood pal looked like now. Both men were far into the age where one started to grey, and Lukas couldn’t picture Grisha any other way than when they’d met. Lukas supposed he looked quite a bit like Mister Gressler, although with marginally longer hair and bigger glasses. The two being as slimy and unpredictable as they were- Lukas wondered briefly if they were distantly related.

His train of thought was cut short suddenly, as the procession came to a halt.

“This is the hatch to the other end of the tunnel.” One of the soldiers announced.

Thomas looked fearfully to Lukas “What if King Fritz realizes we’ve come this way?”  
Lukas sighed “Fritz has no way of knowing we’re here, not with all the commotion in the capital. That lazy bastard’s too self absorbed to check, in any case.” He sighed “Thomas and Bjorn, we’re going.”

They had come to this point dressed in plainclothes, shedding fragments of armour as they’d travelled the dank tunnel. Their faces smeared with mud, and any sigils of Filomena scrubbed off their garments, Lukas and his procession looked like a group of grimy village folk. They’d found a lowly criminal in the tunnels earlier than they’d expected to, and after being left at the mercy of Bjorn and his military men the poor stranger had confessed to knowing Grisha’s whereabouts. He’d been illegally trading weapons, and was settled in a farming community on a hill to avoid suspicion. Lukas had frowned when the stranger had mentioned Grisha had a wife, or some kind of woman in cahoots living with him at the very least. Bjorn had done away with the stranger quickly enough, and after a hearty looting of his possessions they’d found a map of Shinganshina’s tunnels.

Lukas’s worry over the presence of a second player was looming over him. Did he have it in him to murder an innocent woman? Or worse, Jaeger’s housewife? He thought of his darling Filumena in the castle, and the rage he’d known when the royal family was almost done away with so many years ago. What would have those barbarians done to his beautiful wife? Did Jaeger lay awake at night, wondering about his own family? Lukas shook his head suddenly, there was no point dwelling on it, if drastic measures needed to be taken so be it. Such was the burden of being the King.

They had had some luck however, as it became immediately apparent to Lukas the band of men could masquerade as farmers. All it took was a small tweaking of their appearances, and perhaps some expert acting on Thomas’s part. Indeed, Bjorn and his young wife were simply passing through to trade grain, their greying father in law in tow. Lukas couldn’t have been handed a better opportunity for getting his way.

The group had laboured to explain the brilliant trickery to Thomas, but the lad wouldn’t have it.

Thomas’s eyes, seeming to shine independent of each other, were wide open in fear. 

“Me, my liege?” He croaked.

“Aye,” sighed the one named Bjorn in response “We need a woman in our party to avoid suspicion. Suppose you have the honor of becoming my wife, Thomas. You’ll make a fine Strauss!”

The party let out a hearty chuckle, but Lukas’s face was a mask of seriousness and quickly dispelled their frivolity. Thomas’s silky blonde hair and petite frame lent themselves easily to his being mistaken for a woman; rather frequently, it was worth noting.

Bjorn’s moustache bristled with the effort to haul Thomas out of the hatch, and at last Lukas found himself back in the land of the sun.

Elsewhere Anton Krause was biding his time. He’d waited at the foot of the grand marble staircase until he’d caught sight of Swansilhilde again. She’d come down, flanked by a few ladies in waiting, and had disappeared into a parlor with a rather bewildered expression still plastered to her face. Krause half smiled, pretending to listen to some diplomat, he supposed she was just as confused and excited as he was at that moment. What a strange game of cat and mouse the Court and the King were playing; not unlike a scripted game of chess. Who was to come out on top Krause wondered.

He’d tore after the princess in such a panic he hadn’t even formulated what to do once he’d caught up to her. If she were indeed trading secrets with Fritz through a prisoner, what then? Krause had killed many people in the military, for much more petty offences than treason, but could he have killed a silly young girl? 

What good would it do me, he thought bitterly, Even if she were a traitor- it wouldn’t fix any of this.

He’d been all too lucky, sneaking down there to confront Levi himself, when he’d seen a familiar character gripping the bars of his cell. Long black hair shining in the candlelight, gaze transfixed on a dumbstruck Levi’s face; it was the Princess. The worst had come to Krause’s mind, and he’d watched with bated breath as she’d disappeared in a hurry.

He excused himself from the busy entrance hall, and expertly dodged many fussy politicians all yammering about something or other. After quite the effort he’d arrived at a guarded door, and with a nod to the guards he’d been allowed in. At last he was home, at last he was in the Justices’ chambers. What an unwelcoming home it was; this place was the gloomy hovel to which he was bound, rather than one which he returned to voluntarily. He remembered his first couple of years here, they were sunny and bright and encouraging, but like with most things that Schmidt got his hands on, it was now tainted; blanketed with shadows and deceit. Darkness had fallen over the Justices’ chambers, and it’s unforgiving, vulture-like master had made for himself a cozy and putrid nest.

Krause wouldn’t allow himself to believe Filomena was a nation on the brink of collapse. No, they were far too great, far too advanced to meet such an end. The shining capital, now a beacon of greed and impotency, had simply to be expunged. If enough people were prosecuted, and enough nasty plots were made aware to the King, surely something could be done. There must be recourse, Krause thought urgently, some solution that didn’t have Schmidt’s blackened methodology in it. Filomena couldn’t be allowed to rot under his watchful gaze, this he’d assured himself during many sleepless nights; the brash populism that had swept the nation was a symptom of the problem, not the source of the omnipresent decay.

When had Schmidt become so powerful? Krause grit his teeth. Like a spider weaving a web Schmidt had stuck his way into the beds of the vast majority of noblemen. He’d aided them: condemned their political prisoners, jailed those who dared to question the authorities, and bribed Fritz’s slimy countrymen. But why? Perhaps Schmidt thought he could unseat King Lukas and take the throne for himself. Krause chuckled at the thought, it wasn’t ridiculous to suggest that Fritz would overthrow the Court and seize Filomena for himself. He remembered the night he had led Mary Ziegler, confused and emaciated, to her nurse’s chamber. Her illness had progressed rapidly, and in a fit of undirected rage she’d forgotten where she was and had attacked Krause. The nurses had assured him she’d be back to normal by the morning, all thanks to the aid of tinctures and tonics. It was that night that he’d heard them, Gaetner and Schmidt and their dastardly cohorts; some criminal was coming up through the tunnels, and they would use him to destroy Lukas’s reputation.

“Whatever may happen can be spun to our advantage.” Gaetner had said merrily “Lukas is an old fool, Paul, if the criminal is not beheaded Lukas will be seen as weak; if the criminal is beheaded he’ll be seen as a monster. We’ll unleash an inquiry on the backs of our politicians and their fattened pockets; the people will rush to unseat Lukas and his brat all on their own.”

“We must act fast, Leon,” Schmidt’s reply had come “By next year the Princess will be betrothed, and we’ll have run out of time.”

Krause had heard the slamming of a fist into a desk, and had lost the constitution to listen further. He’d desperately told Mary what he’d found out, and she’d only stared into the distance.

“Oh,” she’d said at last “And who might you be?”

Krause frowned, it pained him to see her this way. Mary Ziegler, tough and unshakable and unwieldy; now reduced to a husk with occasional lucidity. She’d acted all too soon on his warning. He’d pled with her not to divulge too much in the presence of Swansilhilde- but she hadn’t listened. His strategy had been dissolved by his own foolishness, what was the point in telling a madwoman about a political plot after all? Did he think she would listen to him and behave? No, he now realized, he’d stupidly hoped it would have been so.

If the Court would send the likes of Fritz to tie up loose ends then Krause would find a solution on his own. He’d find the cure for the disease which had gripped Filomena; a bright future laid on the shoulders of prosperous and industrious people would prevail. There was nothing left to do now but follow the vision of Filomena’s leaders, of which he’d appointed himself, for the future.

And hope, he thought suddenly, That Mary will be around to see it.

At last, the door to the drawing room. For a moment he didn’t dare enter, he could hear Fuchs booming on about something and then the whispery voice of Gaetner in response. No doubt Fuchs was agreeing to execute the prisoner. The brute loved mayhem as much as he loved not having to be bothered to think critically. A foolhardy man governed by his mood swings, Fuchs would have never allowed a brat like Levi to join the Survey Corps.

“A brat like Levi.” Krause murmured.

He’d searched Swansilhilde’s face for a sign of disgust or apprehension, but found nothing tangible on her delicate features. She spoke about the prisoner like a lovesick child, and the whole affair had irked Krause somewhat. They couldn’t have been more than 10 years apart, and yet the thought of a girl throwing away that youth for the whims of some Underground slime shook Krause in a way he couldn’t explain. It was disgusting to suggest she had any carnal feelings for a criminal, no, his princess was as pure as the snow that blanketed Filomena in the winter time. She was a beacon of inspiration- no doubt sent to them by the Goddess herself.

The Survey Corps deserved Levi: both were impure, uncouth, all-consumed by greed and left a bad taste in Krause’s mouth. There he’d met Mary Ziegler, perhaps Filomena’s greatest Commander in a century. Anton Krause was an orphan, cast out of his family when times became tough and Dresden had began its quick decline. He’d been sold as a slave, along with a handful of other unfortunate teenagers, and it was Mary Ziegler and her Starszguard who had rescued them. Anton had perhaps been in love with her at first, although it had quickly given way to sheer admiration. He’d trained like a man twice his age, rising through the ranks quickly and spending sleepless nights thinking about Mary. His own mother had been callous, unfeeling and never nurturing, but Mary was different. Even from a distance her smile entranced and captivated, her strong voice rang triumphant, and her sharp eyes never missed a detail. It had finally happened one day, a model cadet by the name of Anton Krause had been handpicked by Ziegler to join her team. He’d come upon a confidant, true friend, trusted leader and perhaps adoptive mother. Krause had so fiercely protected Mary for all those years, when she’d been promoted to Justice he’d been given the reigns to her squad and a shiny Medal of Honor. It was useless to him; for so many lonely years he’d work to become a Justice, and at last his beloved Mary was back in his sights.

The last few years had been nightmarish however. Mary’s nightly fits had given way to paranoia, then stretches of time where she’d forget who she was, and now all hope was lost. Like a docile and frightened child Mary had deteriorated into a state between this world and the next. Confusion had set in, and she barely recognized the face of her caretaker anymore. Nevertheless Krause doted on her: feeding her, watching her while she slept, ordering around her nurses. He’d been told time and again that soon nothing would remain of Justice Ziegler, but he didn’t believe it. Schmidt hadn’t yet caught on, and explained away her odd behaviour as a symptom of getting older.

“Easier on the nerves to let certain things go.” He’d told Anton “She’s done you all the favours she could hasn’t she? She appointed you to us herself for the Goddess’s sake, my boy! Can’t imagine you’d have made it here without her.”

But Krause refused to believe it. He’d earned his way into the positions he’d had; Ziegler was never one to make exceptions. He’d wanted to earn her respect himself, and he refused to accept the convenient excuse Schmidt had made. It only leant itself to Krause’s burning hatred for him. He’d continue protecting her until the day of judgement came, and then Krause was sure she’d turn to him and reveal her clever little trick.

“I was only pretending,” she’d say “It was all a test!”

It would be like the old days, when all Krause needed in this life was Ziegler, and all Ziegler needed in this life was Krause. It had to be, were all those years of effort in vain? No. Of course not. Was his very life spent in vain? No. It couldn’t be. Soon he would show Filomena his way worked, and soon even Lukas with all his bravado would understand.

The time had come, he realized with a glance at the grandfather clock, it was time to decide Levi’s fate.


	11. Auge um Auge Zahn um Zahn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas’s arduous quest has at last brought him to Grisha Jaeger’s doorstep. As cloudy memories of the blonde harpy, Dina Fritz, swim in Lukas’s hindsight, he must come to terms with his boyhood friend’s descent into madness. But what of this Carla Jaeger, and Grisha’s new life as a family man? Lukas suspects something much more sinister is being concealed behind Grisha’s picturesque picket fence, and the sun dappled forest in which he lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all weren’t too attached to Thomas! I kind of realized at the last second making Lukas half blind would be a really sick send off for Thomas. Very “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” which is the title of this chapter (well it”s the OG “an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth)
> 
> I know it’s been months since the last update but hhhhhhh school is killing me. I should be studying math rn but I can’t bring myself to do it and I’m failing Econ... I’m a whole clown....
> 
> Anyway- canon Dina, Carla and Grisha in this chapter! I don’t think there’s going to be more than 2 more chapters after this until all the usual SNK characters appear.

Lukas had been smart to bring an under layer of extra clothing, the garments of Dresden’s regular folk. His planning had been extra careful in bringing along Thomas, specifically, who despite his constant complaining really did look like a typical farmer’s daughter in his ratty dress. His golden curls had been fashioned in a loose bun, and his two toned eyes shone with even more intensity in contrast to his rosy cheeks. He looked embarrassed, clutching his chest in a frantic way, as though he had a bust to hide. If he hadn’t known any better, a young Lukas would have pursued the little blonde himself, once upon a time.

Bjorn, carrying a great axe and some discarded twigs under one shoulder, kept one eye trained on his skittish “wife”. Lukas lumbered happily behind them, occasionally commenting to his “daughter” how the weather was doing wonders for his aching joints.

Nobody had raised an eyebrow at the little family strolling through the lush green pasture. In this part of the world, Fritz’s part of the world, the sun was a lazy yellow dot in the sky. It wasn’t beating alongside the grating shriek of cicadas here. No, a lazy breeze was ruffling cattails, and cotton was soaring gently through the air. Lukas’s scorched Filomena, with its all-too-bright architecture and blazing heat, seemed worlds away. Fritz’s happy storybook world, alight with the smell of late fall, had stolen all the grandeur of Paradis Island before it had the chance to reach Filomena.

Finally, Bjorn made a grunting sound and threw Lukas a cautionary nod. They’d reached the last little brown house, tucked away by the edge of a forest, its chimney high and belching smoke.

Bjorn surreptitiously grabbed Thomas’s shoulder and pulled the little man into the crook of his arm. A couple, shucking some kind of vegetable nearby, pointed and giggled.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Thomas hissed

“Now, now my love,” Bjorn said, loud enough for their audience to hear “If you keep talking like that we’ll absolutely be neglecting our chores in favour of ‘something else’!”

Thomas made a noise like a cat being strangled.

Lukas quickened his pace, so the three men formed a little train of mundanity. He’d been straggling back, watching every direction for signs of pursuit, waiting for the sounds of footsteps all too close to his own pace. There had been no such activity, and Lukas thanked his Goddess their ploy had worked until now. They’d separated at Shinganshina’s market, making the case they were looking for a sheep herder by the name of Grisha Jaeger. Thomas’s acting as a disheartened betrothed, settling on a farm with her aging father and new husband, had sold their act to a weary-looking fish monger. He’d mentioned he’d heard a rumour, being very careful to whisper it into Thomas’s delicate ear, about a similar young couple and their three sheep for sale.

Thomas had returned to Lukas especially irate, “He wouldn’t let go of my waist.” He’d grumbled.

At last they’d arrived. Lukas could clearly see the front door, slightly ajar, and could smell whatever was cooking inside the hut. He could also hear the grating braying of several sheep. The criminal in the tunnels, the fishmonger, the innocent couple shucking their dinner, all unwitting players in Lukas’s grand scheme. Or perhaps they were the breadcrumbs that had led the all-too-eager schoolboy to the witch’s doorstep.

Bjorn and Lukas shared a look, and treading carefully through the wooden gate of the property (meant to keep Grisha’s two or three chickens inside) the trio fell deadly silent. Bjorn raised his hand to knock, and Lukas’s heart pounded wildly in his ears. The scenery was too mundane, too perfect, too cartoonishly benevolent. A stump with a pile of logs and a hatchet buried within, chickens and sheep, a hut with a warm hearth and the scent of roasted nuts, a haphazard gate and a lonely patch of grass hidden by the shadow of a great tree. This wasn’t Grisha, in fact this was so far removed from Grisha that Lukas thought he’d dreamt the whole journey. Soon he’d awake with nothing but the sands of time to slip through his fingers.

Bjorn’s fist hadn’t hit the door yet when it was swung open and two burly men charged out. The chickens scattered, the sheep bleated pitifully, and Lukas hadn’t had time to recoil in shock when he felt a pistol in his back. He was thrust over to the hearth, turning his head just in time to see a great brute charge Thomas and disarm Bjorn. Lukas struggled but was hit swiftly in the back of the head, and fell to his knees. Through his blurry vision he watched the unmistakable forms of Thomas and a disoriented Bjorn being hauled off towards the deeper part of the woods.

The door was shut abruptly behind him, and Lukas couldn’t manage the strength to call out to his comrades.

“So you thought I hadn’t heard?” Came a familiar voice “That you were planning this surprise party for me? Really Lukas, I always was smarter than you.”

Lukas was hauled up by two heavy sets of arms, and was dumped unceremoniously into a wooden chair. This kitchen was dark, its windows shrouded over with tapestry, and only the roaring hearth leant it ambience. This mundane place would be his tomb, Lukas realized, it was all for naught. He looked up, his spared eye peeking out from behind a calloused hand.

“Ah,” he said with a chuckle “So the cat’s out of the bag then?”

Lukas could make out a spindly man standing facing the hearth. The man reached out for the large brass pot bubbling away, but at once turned on his heel. 

“Here!” Said the man, yanking Lukas’s hand from his face “Didn’t you come all this way to see me?!”

Lukas gasped, it really was Grisha Jaeger who stood before him. Aged, with a meek-looking body and tarnished spectacles, Lukas’s childhood friend was leering at him. Lukas at once grabbed his wrist back, and massaging it angrily he locked eyes with Grisha’s beady stare. Grisha’s skinny face was just as it had been in his youth, even though he’d grown out his chestnut hair and pencil-thin beard. The lines in his face had etched into him a permanent scowl, but his eyes were glassy and green as they’d been when he was a boy.

Lukas’s lips parted for a moment as if there was something he wanted to say. Something from the tenderest place in his young man’s heart, an apology to an old friend.

He grunted with pain, his head was aching.

“Really Lukas,” Grisha taunted him “Poor planning on your part. Leaving a petty thief for dead in the tunnels. My men had mentioned some unsavoury characters crawling around the Underground. A real criminal wouldn’t have been stupid enough to kill one of my cohorts.”

“Great repercussions then?” Spat Lukas

“Oh, dire.” Hummed Grisha “And that Gressler fellow, the slimiest of them all. Flouncing around Shinganshina under a million pseudonyms.. Leave it to a fool to send somebody who’d stick out like a sore thumb.” Grisha eyed Lukas curiously “When did you become so out of touch with the common folk Lukas?”

Lukas cleared his throat “Return my men Grisha, your quarrel is not with Bjorn and the boy.”

Grisha half smiled “That was a boy? You really don’t have any taste Lukas.”

“Where is it?” Lukas barked at last, his fury getting the better of him. He tried to stand up but one of Grisha’s goons grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down.

“Go see that the boy and this Bjorn fellow are taken care of.” Grisha told the other one with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t you hurt him!” Lukas called, struggling to turn around against the goon’s grip “He’s just a child!”

“Shut up!” Cried the goon, and cracked something over Lukas’s head. His vision was once again swimming with cloudiness.

“Now then,” Grisha spat “I know what you’re here for, and I’m afraid I won’t give it to you-“

“Too busy playing God, Grisha? You selfish man.” Moaned Lukas

Grisha grit his teeth “You know just as well as I do that Paradis Island has sins to atone for! This land will be righteously leveled-“

“And you won’t even be around to see it,” Lukas barked “You’ll be leveled along with it- along with whatever sick fantasy you’ve got brewing in this house!”

Grisha chuckled “I’m afraid I’ve left all my sick fantasies in my youth, Lukas. I see now what a little fool I was. Wanting to stop the titans, wanting to have mastery over a force of nature so powerful..no. My forefathers came to Paradis Island on the back of the greatest feat of vengeance humankind has ever seen. I was sent here to put an end to a Holy war!”

“You’re insane,” Lukas hissed “You were so hopped up on your own fumes as a lad- and for what? To justify murdering millions of people? You can’t control the titans, Grisha! You won’t subjugate the heart of humanity.”

Grisha was suddenly quieted, he kneeled to be eye-level with Lukas and a slimy smile affixed itself to his face.

“This great death mask of despair, Lukas,” he hissed “This is how I want to remember you.”

Rising suddenly Grisha made a grab for the brass pot’s ladle.

“This is how I want to remember you: my oldest friend, before I paint my home with your brain.”

Grisha wound up his arm, and Lukas shut his eyes in preparation for the horrors to come. He saw his beautiful wife, his four beloved daughters, and the rose bushes he’d planted the day after his wedding. For a moment he missed the gruelling heat of Filomena, and the buffeting winds of her icy winters. He wanted to apologize for his unceremonious departure. He wanted to apologize for all the grief he’d caused Swansilhilde.

Death didn’t come for Lukas, instead there was the unmistakable sound of the front door whizzing open.

“Grisha darling, I’m home!” Came a cheery voice.

Lukas wondered if he’d died and gone to Hell, trapped in an eternity of playing the most mundane game of house- with Grisha Jaeger for a wife.

“Ah,” came Grisha’s off-kilter reply. “Carla, you’re home earlier than I had expected you.”

No, he’d been spared. The end had been delayed.

‘Most merciful Goddess,’ Lukas thought quickly ‘Most merciful and dutiful Goddess Filumena!’

Grisha was hiding the ladle behind his back, and the goon had released Lukas’s shoulders. The woman who had scuttled in, very obviously pregnant and holding a basket full of linens, was eyeing Lukas curiously.

“Who’s this dear?” She asked innocently

“Ah, I found the poor thing in the woods. Fell off his horse it seems. Bruno and I were just patching the poor lad up- invited him in for a cup of broth.”

Lukas understood at once, they were indeed playing house. He was being made to partake in a sinister charade to suit Grisha’s ends. This poor woman, so obviously carrying Grisha’s child out of genuine love for the scoundrel, could not be allowed to know what was going on. It seemed Grisha had a very notable, woman-shaped chink in his armor. A flaw Lukas could exploit, if not but to stay alive long enough to escape.

“Right,” came Carla’s reply. She set the basket down gingerly “You poor man, I’ll bring you a bowl at once.” She cooed, and marched off to the kitchen.

“Seems I’ve found my bargaining chip then.” Lukas murmured to Grisha, who had taken his seat beside him like a dutiful friend.

Lukas at once felt the familiar sensation of Bruno’s pistol hit him square between the shoulders. 

“Ah,” he muttered “Perhaps not.”

Grisha was scowling at him “You’ve simply been afforded a mere amount of luck. Tread lightly paladin.”

Maybe it was his injured head, but Lukas’s mind was suddenly reeling with suspicion. Paladin...somebody had called him that before. Somebody who had joined in one of his and Grisha’s cardgames as boys, somebody with a penchant for dramatic tales. Somebody who’s goldilocks hair Grisha’s uncle, and only companion, had fawned at length about.

“You leap before you look, paladin!” Came a voice from Lukas’s past “Like that hot, pressed suit of yours, you’re all talk!”

“I swear,” Lukas’s younger self repeated in his ears “When I marry my Queen I’ll plant her a garden of rose bushes- right here! You’re just jealous Grisha can’t garden, Dina.”

Lukas furrowed his eyebrows “That isn’t...Dina... Your betrothed, that woman, where is she?”

Grisha’s eyes flashed dangerously “I can’t say I know who you’re talking about my good lad. Perhaps you have my Carla confused with somebody else.”

Lukas remembered it vaguely, one of the last times he’d seen Grisha before all this horrible business.

“I’m getting married,” Grisha had said proudly “To Dina Fritz.”

That memory, that smiling blonde and her icy, disinterested blue eyes. A background character in Lukas and Grisha’s tale of friendship gone to ruin. Nothing like this Carla woman with her dark hair and piercing gaze. Who was that harpy, in her silky dress, that had haunted his and Grisha’s late-night card games towards the end?

“No,” murmured Lukas “I...remember her-“

“I’m back!” Came Carla’s voice at once “I brought you a bandage just in case.”

Lukas’s heart melted under Carla’s smiling face, and he again shot her belly a quizzical look. More questions, Lukas had received word of Grisha’s marriage having happened long ago, plenty of time for him to have already had children. But where was such a child? Where was his betrothed with her vacant stare and her porcelain skin? Where was the little blonde Jaeger baby, equal parts nefarious Grisha and overindulged Dina?

Carla ran a sun kissed hand through her hair “Any day now,” she announced happily “I caught you staring earlier, sir. I’m mighty proud, it’s our first born. Hey, what did you say your name was again?”

Lukas stared helplessly at Grisha ‘No,’ he thought again ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

He’d barely met Grisha’s defiant eyes, demanding silence and obedience, when the door opened for a final time. 

A great roar, the thud of Bruno’s body, and Carla Jaeger’s horrified screams. Bjorn had appeared: bleeding, bleary eyed and wielding his axe. He seized Lukas by the arm and tugged him to his feet.

“Time to go!” He cried, brandishing his axe at Grisha “Get a move on- face the wall- do you hear me?!”

Grisha evidently hadn’t moved quickly enough for Bjorn, who grabbed Bruno’s pistol and shot him once in the thigh.

Grisha let out a blood curdling scream, and Carla cried out shortly after with a high pitched wail. She was covering her eyes with her hands, her broken sobs echoing around the house. Bjorn was yelling again, brandishing his gun at Carla. Lukas could only focus on her belly, and remember his halfhearted apology to Swansilhilde moments ago.

Lukas had acted before he’d had time to think it through. He’d seized the ladle on the table and gave a good whack to the back of Bjorn’s head.

In the cacophony of Carla’s shrieks, he and Grisha could only stare at each other for a moment. There was something like panic in Jaeger’s eyes as he stood between this deranged Lukas and his wife. 

“Go!” Lukas cried “For Carla’s sake, go! Or I’ll paint this hut with her brains myself!”

Grisha grit his teeth and grabbed his sobbing wife by the wrist “You’ll be sorry Lukas!” He cried wildly “You’ll atone for your crimes with this wretched isle- and with me you’ll burn in the tar pit we’ve been digging all these long years!”

Lukas made a lunge at Grisha, who side-saddled around the table and dragged Carla out the door as if she were a rag doll. Lukas ran outside, watching as Grisha leapt onto the horse Bjorn had rode in on, and with a final seething glare of hatred, Jaeger jolted off into the wooded area.

The neighbours had begun to realize something was amiss, Lukas could see the silhouettes of several angered men with weapons, gesturing to the Jaeger house and trickling out of their own. He ran back inside, where Bjorn was peeling himself off the floor.

“He got me,” he moaned “That nonce hit me over...the head.”

“Yes, yes, no time for that now!” Cried Lukas.

He tore into the kitchen, knocking several dishes over in the process. He then tore back to the hearth, throwing books off the shelf. He was looking for a lever, a hidden door, a stone out of place- anything to confirm his suspicions Grisha was working on something stored in this hut. 

He could hear the crowd approaching and their accusatory yelling. He heard dogs and their furiously snapping jowls.

Lukas tripped over the carpet suddenly, and barrelled into a wooden door. The door was knocked ajar, and the splitting of the wood made an echo too suspicious for him to ignore. Lukas brought the hinges off the wall with a great thrust of his shoulder, and tore down the steps into the darkness.

A lab? A study? No, some kind of armoury. Grisha’s firearms were strew lazily about, there were some notebooks sitting half scribbled in, and some bloody instruments tossed haphazardly onto a desk. Lukas tore the pictures off the walls, he pulled every last drawer in the desk out, he reached under the overstuffed chair. At last! A hole behind a mundane picture frame, housing a vial of bright red liquid. 

Lukas shouted in insane triumph, and, gathering the lightest of the notebooks under his arm he tore back up the stairs.

Bjorn was on his feet, staring out the window with a grimace.

“Those townsfolk are getting closer!” He cried.

“Then let us depart!” Lukas cried, but hissed as his ankle rung out in pain. “I ruined it when I fell! Bjorn you’ll have to carry me.”

Hobbling into the forest supported by Bjorn, Lukas made a mad dash for the cover of the trees. The sounds of the dogs were growing fainter, and Bjorn’s struggles were becoming more apparent as he attempted to carry his own deadweight, and Lukas’s, over shrubbery and broken branches.

At last the pair collapsed in a sun dappled clearing. They could go no further, and the furious sounds of the townsfolk had faded into obscurity. Here there was nothing save lush greenery and silence, oppressive silence that not even the finest bird of paradise dared to break. There was no way of telling which end of the forest was which, everything looked the same, every muddy path as winding and directionless as the last.

“The tunnel those men came out of- it’s here. It’s how Grisha’s been getting out of Shinganshina.” Bjorn said between panting breaths.

Lukas crawled on his knees to feel around for a hatch, his good eye was focused on his bloodied hand, his left was blinded. He had been crawling along on his forearms, desperately pondering their situation, but stopped abruptly. He had bumped into something, he was staring into Thomas’s face; his blue eye had been speared through with an arrow, closed and matted and bloody, and his green eye was wide open in horror.


	12. Lasst uns erfreuen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Levi’s fate is sealed by Swansilhilde’s mighty hand. Spared, although indebted to Captain Erwin Smith, Levi begins his journey with the Survey Corps. The familiar question of altered agency haunts both he and Swansilhilde, as her words echo in the darkest dungeon: “You’re going to die no less. I’ve only made the noose a little longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody left kudos which like- awww!!!!!!!!!!! I thought nobody was reading this but we have 130 hits- wild! So it’s time to shoe horn in the last little details before the chapter where everybody gets murdered. Did I spoil my own story? Nope! Cause y’all are gonna go apeshit when I reveal my master plan.
> 
> Hope y’all like the bell thing- I tried to tie the theme of the chapter to it. Purification/ baptism/ salvation/ victory knells/ the trumpets of Heaven...real biblical stuff
> 
> The title of this chapter is a German religious hymn called “Let us rejoice most merrily” which is also super topical.  
> English teachers would have a field day with me (and usually do) cause I’m on a mission to just include the most outlandish symbolism I swear lmao
> 
> PS Czintalan is only named that because like...it’s 3 syllables and I thought Schmidt’s first line would be fun to say with a 3 syllable name hahaha
> 
> EDIT: A THIRD KUDOS???? WHAAAAT??????? I’m gonna cry at work y’all

Swansilhilde’s heart was hammering wildly. She felt as though she were holding the most precious secret in the universe. As though, in her very chest, sat slumbering the baby bird of hope, whose fledgling cries would erupt from her heart in happy peals.

At last, justice would be served, and by her own capable hands no less. Indeed, she thought triumphantly, Justice and Victory, their marble portrayals peppered throughout the hall, would lend Swansilhilde all their power. On Victory’s gilded wings would be raptured the corrupt court officials, and it would be Swansilhilde’s own head they would place on that stony stump. Swansilhilde felt more smug than Gaetner himself, as the officials once again piled into the bird box above the crowd.

Her triumph had once seemed so far, certainly less than guaranteed, but Krause and his wild eyes had all but assured her of their victory. His strange view of the future, at once both optimistic and bleak, utopian but shrouded in hatred for his countrymen- it confused Swansilhilde. She hadn’t thought him possible of the blind respite he’d showed her, when he’d thought Swansilhilde and Levi were operating in cahoots. Those wicked eyes, locked all at once on her face, and the world around him, revealed the last shreds of a man clinging to hope. What did Krause hope for, after all? Swansilhilde had seen it- the furious flame of justice emanating through his caramel orbs.

“I fear there won’t be anything left for you to protect when the time comes.” He’d said. His face had been so close, Swansilhilde could smell the woody muskiness of his robes. She’d been entranced, enveloped by despair and...thrill?

What had been the bi product, of that desperate ponderation? The theatrical expositing of Filomena’s strange situation, all at once laid bare by a Princess and an unhinged soldier. He had, in not so many words, guaranteed mercy for Swansilhilde’s prisoner. What hand did he have in satisfying her whims? How many more people could she fool, with all her flowery prose and doe eyes, into believing she had a plan to defeat Fritz. Or Schmidt. Or the terrible minotaur who now haunted her dreams, whose face always shifted between Gaetner, Schmidt and Fritz themselves.

He’d called it “Schmidt’s rebellion” he’d called her “little sister”, oh what strange machinations those lowly actors had taken on. But now wasn’t the time for deliberation, now was the time for action. Swansilhilde could spy Hanji and Erwin, two beige pillars among the lavish smattering of robes below her. Erwin’s eyes were piercing Swansilhilde from so far away that she blushed, even though there was no way Erwin would have been able to tell.

For a moment a funny thought crossed her mind, like a cloud of fog dimming a street lamp. Krause had been angry with her, for being interested in Levi, for being interested beyond the guise of just rulership. He had noticed her feelings, she’d caught the recognition in his heavy lidded eyes, she’d seen the quizzical expression on his handsome face. Krause had been disgusted with her, but why? What kind of strange secrets were being kept from her in the folds of adulthood? What kind of foreign carnal pleasures did Krause think had drawn her to that dungeon, on a sun kissed afternoon?

Swansilhilde’s thoughts dissipated like a cloud of dust when the gavel came down onto the bench. The crowd was murmuring below the justices, and an electric air of mirth was circulating around the room. Then came Schmidt’s voice: smug, collected, as though he had also been relishing in a victory not yet attributed to either party.  
“The ballot will now be cast! Bring in the prisoner!” He cried

Swansilhilde watched, as amid a crowd of conspiratorial murmurs, the shackled form of Levi was paraded through the courtroom. Swansilhilde’s eyes softened immediately, and she tried desperately to lean forward, to trace the lines on his delicate face.

“Czintalan, if you please?” Schmidt had gestured to a man standing by Levi. He was fidgeting like a preening parrot, dressed equally gaudy, with a curled moustache on his stiff upper lip. He was holding a cream coloured parchment between his meaty hands, and reading from it importantly with an artificial air of pompousness.

“It shall be decided,” came the shaky voice of Czintalan “On this day of our Goddess, October third year 847, the criminal Levi will be judged by way of casting a ballot. Let it be known Mister Levi is found guilty of damages to property of the crown of Sina, and the besmirching of the good name of the Survey Corps. Should Mister Levi be found solely guilty of treason, he will be sentenced to death by hanging!” There was a notable murmur, in hushed tones, that engulfed the room. The eyebrows of many denizens had been knit together in concern “If he be found guilty, solely of paying damages to the crown, these damages will be repaid in the form of your immortal soul. You will be made to serve in the Survey Corps, under Captain Erwin Smith, and hereby banned from entering Filomena. You will serve until such a time as your natural life expires!”

Swansilhilde caught Schmidt’s defiant gaze from the corner of her eye. 

Czintalan, who has been barking the final decree in Levi’s direction, now turned to the bench. He was shaking even harder now, as though it were his own fate being decided. The crowd was insatiable, the murmur was now a steady hum among the attendees. Every man nudged his neighbour, weighing in on what he thought the outcome might be.

“Those in favour of the death sentence, raise your hands now.” Czintalan barked

Gaetner and Schmidt’s hands shot up, and in a moment of pure confusion, Schmidt whipped around to look at his fellowship. He looked stunned, utterly perplexed, as though somebody had attempted to draw confusion at its finest. Krause had leaned surreptitiously forward, and given Swansilhilde a sly wink.

The crowd seemed just as stunned as Schmidt himself, as Czintalan stared dejectedly at the raised hands of Gaetner and Schmidt. An uproarious chatter had swept those in attendance, and it had swelled like a wave of a thousand conflicting opinions. Gaetner, furiously gnashing his teeth, was pounding the bench with gavel in-hand, demanding silence from the insatiable crowd. Erwin sighed a breath of relief, and beside him Hanji chuckled.

“Look at you, bankin’ all your hopes on a teenager.” She mused slyly

Erwin half smiled “Well, it’s not like you had any better ideas.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, the worst was well behind him.

Czintalan was standing before the bench like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun. Clearly not expecting such an outcome, he was staring desperately in Gaetner’s general direction. He looked as though he’s be told to disregard the ballot and kill Levi himself, then and there.

“Well!” Cried Schmidt at last “The rest of the ballot then!” He waved his arm frantically, clearly eager to have his defeat end without too much rigmarole.

“A-All, I say, all in favour of serv-“ the words had hardly left Czintalan’s mouth when the remaining Justice’s hands shot up in unison.

Swansilhilde was smiling widely, and even Justice Fuchs was gazing at Levi with a newfound fondness. There was something like calmness in his gaze, and from outside the courthouse the peal of the nearby church of St Rosemary of the Purification could be heard; resounding triumphantly off the Capital’s architecture. The sunset was pouring into the hall, and as the noise of the crowd’s rapturous conversations swallowed up Swansilhilde; the great brass bells baptized her in a wave of calm. Levi was hidden by Czintalan’s pointy shoulders, but Swansilhilde breathed a great sigh of relief for the both of them.

“Very well,” came Krause’s call to action “Disperse then you lot,” he banged his own gavel triumphantly “This court hereby sentences Mister Levi to a lifetime of servitude to the Survey Corps. Court is adjourned!” He peered down at the beige couple, who had broken into a salute “Please have the prisoner brought into the Captain’s custody at once.”

Czintalan, along with the court’s soldiers, had swarmed Levi and carried him out of the room with Erwin and Hanji in tow. Swansilhilde descended the wooden staircase to the dingy room where she’d changed earlier that day. She’d caught sight of Justices Krause and Ziegler, shuffling arm in arm away from Schmidt’s rapturous monologuing, and had met eyes with Anton Krause for a moment. His steely eyes met hers, and his signature boyish smile broke out across his face. He’d nodded curtly, and Swansilhilde had broken into a large grin in return. Justice Fuchs, meanwhile, had clapped Justice Gaetner on the back. Seemingly very much amused by Gaetner’s frustration, Justice Fuchs was talking loudly about the hearty dinner he had planned.

Figures, thought Swansilhilde, that it wouldn’t have taken much, for Anton Krause to coax him to our side.

Once her feet had hit the wooden floor of that dimly lit chamber, she turned on her heel for the small panelled doorway to the dungeons. She raced down, careful to glide and feel along the stone walls for stability; at last she spotted the faintest gleam of a torch well away. Once at the corner where the wall met the dungeon’s interior, she peeked surreptitiously over it, craning her neck to follow the noise of closing doors. Gathering her robes in one hand, she took a cautionary step down another stair. There were men talking- far too many for comfort.

Then, as suddenly as she’d noticed the men’s voices, their conversation was interrupted by the slam of a great door. Swansilhilde labored to catch a glimpse of a man’s profile in the torch light. She at once recognized the silkiness of a pressed beige jacket, and then the gleam of dim light on a great pair of goggles.

“Glad that’s over,” came Hanji’s exasperated voice, and Swansilhilde heard a chair scrape the floor “Now that we’re alone we can work on your brilliant plan, Smith.”

Swansilhilde’s foot knocked a piece of the stair loose, and she cringed as it’s clattering alerted her presence. She heard a sword removed from its sheath, and thought it best to make herself known; no matter who else was in the audience of Levi’s cell.

“Or at least, I thought so.” Came Hanji’s voice again

“It’s only me!” Squeaked Swansilhilde as she lifted herself off the ground with great effort “I c-came through the crawl space.”

She’d gathered herself well enough before stepping into the full light of a hanging torch. Before her stood Captain Erwin Smith, and his cohort Hanji. The shadowy form of Levi, cast back into his cell, was barely illuminated by an oil lamp on the table.

“Ah,” came Erwin Smith’s taught smile, as he stepped towards Swansilhilde “Please, allow me.”

Swansilhilde allowed herself to be led by the hand over the stony and crooked floor. Hanji mimicked Erwin’s initial cordial salute, although hers had more of a joking air to it. Swansilhilde was beginning to suspect Hanji wasn’t her greatest fan.

“Good strategy then,” Erwin nodded “Sina’s people thank you. The Survey Corps thanks you.” He let go of Swansilhilde’s hand, and produced something from his pocket “For you.”

It was a letter, seemingly addressed but never sent, rolled tightly in brown paper and tied in twine. Swansilhilde attempted to open it, but Erwin’s giant hands enfolded her own. She considered yanking them away in disgust but her thoughts, still in their merry little cloud of glee, escaped her.

“Not here,” he murmured “I trust you could make use of this once you’re safe in your castle.”

Swansilhilde peered beyond his shoulder at Hanji, who was picking her nails with a pocket knife.

“Aye,” she chided, meeting Swansilhilde’s gaze “I lifted that off a particularly drunk military man, when we left Sina. The Captain wanted me to give it to you when we got here, but I’m not in the business of trusting random teenagers.”

Hanji shrugged and Swansilhilde, still riding the wave of euphoria, smiled wryly back at her.

“Very well,” she began “Tell me, Captain, you won’t tarry long in the Capital then?”  
Erwin shook his great head “We plan to depart by sun down.”

Swansilhilde nodded “Very well.”

She suddenly remembered the purpose of her visit, and gazed at the jail cell bars. It was too dark to make out movement, and she was sure Levi had been shackled to the wall again. She wanted very much to ask how he felt, if perhaps he had changed his surly nature, and was rejoicing his life had been spared.

“Thank you, Captain,” Swansilhilde began in earnest “For your collaboration. I couldn’t have sat idly and watched the High Court take the life of a young man.”

“Indeed.” Replied Erwin, and once again bowed graciously “I do believe I’d think it very cordial,” he began again, with his usual underhanded tone “If the young man thanked you himself.”

“I’ll rally our party, Captain.” Hanji replied, and saluting with a smile, she departed.

Swansilhilde suddenly felt a cheek descend to her right ear “Be warned,” came Erwin’s voice in hushed tones “The contents of that letter must only be opened once you have become Queen. A year’s time ought to be enough. What burden was once addressed to his Majesty, has now fallen upon your shoulders.”

Erwin strode past her, and closing the great wooden door; left Swansilhilde in the darkest dungeon, without a coherent thought to guide her.

She pondered his words for a moment, feeling the usual annoyance at the way he enjoyed dismissing her, before she remembered the task at hand. Her eyes turned steely, and her mouth became tight as she tried to beat back her nervousness. She approached the bars and cleared her throat; she could see him, sitting cross legged on the ground, his hands shackled together.

“I hope,” she began, and immediately took a breath to steady herself “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

That wasn’t what she had planned to say, but alas, she had said it. 

“Interesting.” Came the bored reply “Here I thought you’d wax poetic or something.”

Swansilhilde bit her lip, what had come over her? Her candour had snaked its way to the forefront of her mind; there could be no stopping the outpour of emotion to come.

“I know it’s not glamorous, living your life to serve your countrymen. It...” she took a steadying breath “It feels like you’re a rag doll doesn’t it? At everybody’s mercy- never able to choose for certain, never able to decide your fate. Sometimes you think you’ve made an independent decision, and then the puppeteers of your life arrive. They say ‘ha you see- it was us all along’ and you’d be better off going along with their scheme.”

Swansilhilde looked up at the stony ceiling, it was leaking, and covered in mildew from years of disuse.

“I know it feels like I conned you, doesn’t it?” She asked softly “There’s not a man alive in this courtroom today that wants to see you alive. Even Captain Smith, with all his bravado, has sentenced you to death. It’s a slower death than Schmidt would have- but you’re going to die no less. I’ve only made the noose a little longer.”

There was a long silence, where Swansilhilde could only hear her own breathing. Just as in the face of Anton Krause, her emotions had bubbled to the surface. They had laid her bear, and written the story of her pain, her ire, her frustration, her insecurities- all typefaced on her very being. This was a very different Swansilhilde who stood before the cell, worlds away from the young girl who’d been there earlier. She could feel it stir within her: the desire for secrecy, for agency, a hunger for knowledge previously unknown. The thinker of thoughts forbidden, the receiver of strange and cryptic letters, the seeker of carnal pleasures. Well, she stopped herself suddenly, she’d first have to find out what carnal pleasures were after all.

Her reverie was broken by a bark of sarcastic laughter.

“Here I thought you’d come to gloat. Always lookin’ out for the little guy, huh? You and Captain Jackass have a lot in common; it’s a slippery slope to becoming like that bald-headed Judge-friend of yours.”

Swansilhilde peered between the bars and smiled.

“So thanks, Princess.” came Levi’s voice again “Y’know. For delaying the inevitable or whatever.”

A skinny hand penetrated the bars, held back by shackles, but fingers extended as far as they’d go. 

A handshake, thought Swansilhilde desperately. She who had never touched the object of her desires- in fact she’d never quite had desire before, had she?

Her own delicate fingers shook, but firmly grasped the calloused paw. Her mind was once again wiped of any coherency, and the familiar burn of shyness crept across her cheeks and up to her ears.

Oh my Goddess of love, she’d thought meekly, This must be those lyrical, physical pleasures I’ve heard so much about.


	13. Fazit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eerie calm has set in upon Wall Filomena’s Royal Family. Encircling them like a rosy shroud, King Lukas and Princess Swansilhilde turn their sights upon the prosperous future. But plagued by strange letters, nervous countrymen, and a rising sense of animosity towards each other, the happy pair threaten to tear their relationship apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos again?? I’m flagging all my emails from AO3 for posterity ;v; 
> 
> Anyway, there’s a lot of hasty wrapping up to do before everybody dies lmao. Pay special attention to what Mary Ziegler says here (it’s a surprise tool that’ll help us later!!) I’ll retroactively add that there’s most likely going to be 3 more chapters in Filomena before we transition to Sina. I kind of don’t want to let go of this kingdom- but we must!! 
> 
> Also I’ve been editing this chapter for like 2 weeks straight- and while it’s not my favourite I worked really hard. I think it’s very relevant to say oh we’ll hand wave away the bad stuff if we can just get through it. Especially considering all the whacky shit that’s happening thanks to COVID19- I’ve personally learned a lot about the real nature of ppl after seeing panic buying... Late stage Capitalism, as seen in Filomena, is a bitch. Also s/o to Mia and her gay self loathing that was fun to write, and of course to Swannie learning the horrible truth about lady puberty. Being horny is a pain in the ass when you’re a sheltered kid I guess!
> 
> Also for posterity this is day 2 of the full Corona shut down- wild! If I die of a food shortage or some shit I’m gonna be big mad lmao My birthday is tomorrow and we can’t even have a party but I’m an old lady so it’s fine. Anyway, stay safe out there kiddies, and let’s rejoice that everybody’s classes/ exams have been cancelled.
> 
> Mothership, signing off..
> 
> EDIT: The chapter title reads “conclusion”

Mia’s life had at last returned to that like state of bliss, unsullied by business in the Capital and the unsightly machinations of politicians. Her darling Princess Swansilhilde, burdened by lonesome nights of studying, had regained her usual cheeriness. But something was amiss in the beautiful emerald eyes of her Lady. Mia’s Princess had an air of seriousness about her these days: forcibly collected, unnaturally disquieted, oftentimes reclusive. Mia halted the scrubbing of her great brass pot, used for dyeing fabrics, and wiped the sweat from her brow. These days Swansilhilde seemed to oscillate between her sentry outside her father’s study, and the family library. 

Mia scowled, what was she doing up there, all these long afternoons? Swansilhilde had returned home a mask of seriousness, a testament to childhood frivolity dead and buried. There was a strange electricity in the castle air now, one which Mia wagered not many others had picked up on. Swansilhilde toiled stubbornly- but to achieve what end? Mia wondered, and in fact the creeping nervousness she felt confirmed, that the Princess was preparing herself...for marriage.

Mia wrinkled her nose in disgust. There was a part of herself she’d buried, long ago and at the urging of her mother, which longed to see herself on the throne. Not to replace her dear Princess, no, but to sit by her side. To hold the golden sceptre which bore the family crest, and to introduce Swansilhilde as irrevocably her own. Strange, these thoughts which gripped Mia day and night. Unfounded, uncouth, inappropriate, and fundamentally wrong. Mia had promised herself she only toiled out of duty for the royal family. Her day ins and day outs a labor of love- for her King and Queen. For who could provide Swansilhilde all the pleasures of marriage-except a man?  
Unless, Mia thought suddenly, but soon resolved to wash her pot with new vigour. Mia’s daily routine would be interrupted by the appearance of this royal suitor in the castle. She would no longer keep a watchful gaze over Princess Swansilhilde- she’d be replaced. No longer would she be a travelling companion, a roommate in foreign lands, the nightly watchman of Princess Swansilhilde’s sleeping form. Her schedule had been set, and remained firm long after her promotion from a simple scullery maid. She’d wash the clothes, polish the silver, give the kitchen maids their chores, check on sleeping Swansilhilde. Bring the stableman’s dinner to him, prepare the mop water for the morning, fold the linens, check on Swansilhilde. Have her dinner, sweep the dining hall, brush the Queen’s dog, check on Swansilhilde.

“Now what?” She muttered irritably “Some...brutish boy will check on my Lady? I think not.”

Mia’s eyes suddenly stung with tears, tears she would not allow to fall into the immaculate basin. Why was she crying? Many times, when Mia was overcome with emotion like this, she’d hit her forehead with her palm. She’d banish the perverted worry that filled her to bursting, when she imagined a Prince taking her place. But what was her place? So entranced was she by her Lady: her laugh like a bell chime, her mind sharp as a tack, her beautiful elf-like face- to part with it was madness.  
Mia put the pot away with a clatter and sank into a nearby stool. She stared at the floor, feeling wholly dejected, and heaved a sigh like the West wind. Indeed, to part with her Lady, on the day of her engagement, would surely drive Mia to madness.

Elsewhere, Swansilhilde was neck deep in warm bath water. It had been a fair amount of time since the strange business in Stuttgart. Here in the hammam, there was only the pinkish smoke of incense, and the scalding water which ran from its many fountains. Swansilhilde saw herself reflected in the overhead mirror, which spanned the entire length of the chamber. She looked like a horrible blackened jellyfish, her hair strewn about and her eyes turned beady, gazing back at her like a harpy. 

She’d returned home in a state of euphoria, so happy to have spared Levi’s life she’d forgotten the sad business of leaving him behind. She wagered she’d never see him again, that little object of her affection, that awakener of pleasant and wanton dreams. In fact Swansilhilde was more focused on marriage than ever, eager to take her kingdom for herself; moreover, she was eager to know the nature of life’s little pleasures, which poets in love waxed lyrical about. She furrowed her eyebrows in frustration, there it was again! The peculiar burning, separate from the heat of the hammam, planted firmly between her thighs. She’d been woken up by strange and lucid dreams, peppered with Levi’s face and the sweet muskiness of Anton Krause. How strange, she thought suddenly, the interest with which she read the love story of the Swan Princess had consumed her. The last few days had found Swansilhilde hungry for diagrams, poems, ponderations and epics about the nature of love. She’d been in the library, reading of Caesar and Cleopatra, Hellen of Troy, Romeo and Juliet- all frivolities her mother was more akin to enjoy than herself. Not to mention the burning, always the burning; always that wet, insatiable heat between her legs. Her heart would pound wildly when she saw the military men’s weathered hands, her gaze would linger over the broad shouldered stable boy; what was happening to her? When had her joy of having won the trial turned into such pre occupation, which swallowed her whole and robbed her of sleep?

Swansilhilde’s eye narrowed suddenly; ah yes, pre occupation. She remembered bitterly, all at once, the strange display she’d witnessed upon her return. So there was something else, fighting the desire for the touch of men; fighting for the reigns of Swansilhilde’s never-ending attention. She’d returned, an ecstatic Mia in tow, to find her father at the castle gates. Swansilhilde had leapt from her carriage and torn towards him, ready to wrap her loyal arms around him and tell Lukas of her victory. She’d been stopped dead in her tracks, vaguely aware of Mia calling after her, when the nature of the strange scene before her became apparent. King Lukas was standing by his horse, looking all the worse for wear, and arguing with a stable boy. Beside him a man in a splint, nursing actively bleeding wounds, was leading his own battered horse by the reigns. Queen Filumena stood beside them with a couple of maids, spiritedly debating whether or not the family physician should be called. Swansilhilde’s mother looked so distressed it was frightening, and her beautiful features were twisted with grief never before seen. The Queen looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment, and hadn’t even spared Swansilhilde so much as a glance yet.

“Father?” Was all Swansilhilde could manage, and when Lukas turned his great head she noticed his left eye had been bandaged over.

A liberal amount of gore seemed to be spilling out of it into the dressing, and Lukas’s other eye was bloodshot. The panic that had ensued must have been monumental, and as her father labored to pass off his strange injuries as a riding accident, Swansilhilde seemed the only one who wouldn’t be placated. Swansilhilde had followed her parents, and the maids in tow, back into the castle. She’d floated along in rapt silence and attention, narrowing her eyes as Lukas’s story became more and more convoluted. As they sponged his wounds, despite his incessant arguing that he was fine, Swansilhilde couldn’t shake the horrible feeling they’d been duped. Her thoughts were plagued with intense doubt, and as her parents stayed in their own blood-stained world that afternoon, she remained silent; the marginalized jury to Lukas’s suffering.

“Blinded!” Her mother had cried at last “My King, my darling- you’ve lost the sight of your left eye!”

The days subsequent had rolled on to unveil even stranger machinations. Swansilhilde had caught glimpses of her father, pacing about the castle with his new eye patch. He’d set about arguing with his advisors, ordering around his ministers, and barricading himself, “not to be disturbed”, in his study. Swansilhilde and her father had become dual sides of a secretive and blackened coin, burdened by troubled thoughts and secret studying. Swansilhilde’s mother and her sisters seemed easily swayed by her father’s dismissal of the issue of his eyepatch, but Swansilhilde was harbouring suspicion. It was that same suspicion she’d felt at Stuttgart, which gnawed at her insides, when she suspected her father had lied to her about the state of their nation. Swansilhilde thought herself very sly these days, less often seen, more often hiding from the prying eyes of her family. Plotting, just as she was sure her father did in secret, all the days and nights long. Strange occurrences plagued Swansilhilde however, as reminders of the trial against Levi seemed to have followed her home. 

It was on a particularly sunny day, that King Lukas urged Swansilhilde to accompany him back to Stuttgart. Eager to brief him on the highs and lows of her adventure she’d followed along in his teetering horse-drawn carriage. King Lukas had acted normally enough, making polite conversation when conversation was due, and nodding patiently when Swansilhilde mentioned the mild weather. The conspiratorial air about them had been enough to foil her plans of talking about the trial. She’d received her father’s congratulations, a diadem tucked neatly into a box, wrapped and delivered to her bedside by Mia. Swansilhilde had balled her fists in rage at the time, staring dumbly at the open box, and wondering if he thought her a simpleton quieted by fancy gifts. King Lukas’s paternal gaze still shone in his good eye, radiant and loving and nurturing, as it fell on her mousy features; something was sorely lacking in their conversations these days. Swansilhilde felt the need to pretend, to fake complacency and happiness and trust when in her father’s presence. If you would have asked our young Princess if such a feeling could be found in any previous interaction with her father, she would have shook her bouncy curls and gazed at you forlornly.

Upon having arrived at the Capital, Swansilhilde was particularly vexed at the crowd which had amassed in front of the High Court building. King Lukas had departed from the carriage immediately, and with such a force that it sent the thing rocking to and fro. Swansilhilde, her dumbstruck expression leaving her slack-jawed, had climbed out after him. She’d been so utterly perplexed by the scene before her, she’d hung on to the door frame- half in and half out of the carriage. A parade of officials, in Starszguard uniforms, were herding Schmidt and Gaetner into a carriage. Among them, yelling citizens and enraptured paper boys, desperately scribbling their observations on little note pads.

Schmidt was the first to catch sight of King Lukas, and the smile of a calf, saved from the slaughter, lit up his face. “My King!” He’d cried aboud “My King, tell these charlatans to unhand me! They have the wrong man, sire!” He’d elbowed a young military man in the face, as they attempted to haul him off once again.

King Lukas’s face was as grim and stony as ever as the crowd parted to let him through. The Starszguard were beating citizens back with the butts of their rifles, and the little newsboys were hiding between denizen’s legs to peek at the action.

“I’m afraid,” he began at once “You are the one who is mistaken.”

A Starszguard member, who had ridden in on the back of the royal coach, had cut through the throng. “Here ye, here ye,” he shouted with impressive authority “Justices Leon Gaetner and Paul Schmidt, you are hereby arrested for treason to Filomena’s crown.”

A gasp ran through the town square, and even Swansilhilde (who had finally fully emerged from her carriage) could only watch the scene in wonderment. 

“Heresy! A mistake!” Schmidt was pleading, as Gaetner watched the display from the window of a carriage “Tell them Lukas,” his tone was arguably more frantic now “Tell them this can’t be right! I’ve served you for 35 long years- I’ve known you since you were a boy! I guarded your bedroom as a Starszguardman! Surely this is somebody’s idea of a sick joke?”

King Lukas shook his head, and from the folds of his robes produced an impressive looking stack of letters. They were held together in green felt ribbon.

“These are no joke (name),” Lukas boomed, now clearly incensed “These are your correspondences with politicians in Sina, urging the staging of a total coup. There are many others like it- signed with your Justice’s wax stamp- you and Paul. You are hereby stripped of your titles, and will hang from the neck at dawn.”

Schmidt’s horrible screaming could be heard even as he was stuffed into the back of a Starszguard carriage. The crowd had calmed down, and in hushed whispers were contemplating Schmidt’s situation; their murmurs floated through the square like the buzzing of a fly. Swansilhilde followed her father, who was talking animatedly to more military soldiers, up to the High Court’s door. She passed the carriage wich housed those two villains, who had made her life so miserable only weeks before, and couldn’t help but gaze at them. 

“You!” Came Schmidt’s accusatory voice, his frothing mouth could be seen from the open window “That old fool won’t live long enough to understand the error of his ways- but you shall! I promise you, with my dying breath, you shall see the horrible vengeance to be reaped on Filomena! Your petty underclass, cast so far aside by your dim witted father- they’ll hang you by all the hairs on that pretty ickle head of yours! Only King Fritz- the one true King- will be around to hear your merciful pleas, and I hope your pleas go wholly ignored!”

Swansilhilde had recoiled in shock, and after an expletive she dared not to utter again, she’d watched the carriage take off into town. There, on the stairs of the High Court, she could make out Anton Krause and Mary Ziegler, seemingly holding each other in rapt attention. King Lukas’s hulking form could be seen as well, but Swansilhilde was still rooted to her spot. Anton, for the briefest of moments, met her eye, and Swansilhilde found she had been unfrozen. She’d sauntered up the stairs of the High Court, catching her father’s baleful gaze as he descended; more military men on his heels, barking orders this way and that. Swansilhilde ran up to Krause so quickly she feared she would bowl him over.

“What- happened?” Was all she could muster

“They came at dawn, and arrested Justices Gaetner and Schmidt,” answered Anton, keeping a watch for any eavesdroppers “It isn’t safe to talk now, I-“

“Where’s Justice Fuchs?” Asked Swansilhilde weakly

“He’s still inside, terrified they’ll come for him next- as if the brute was smart enough to plan a coup. Listen,” he shoved something into her hand “I’ll send my pageboy for you tonight at midnight, we can correspond by post. Your father’s left me in charge of the High Court. I got my hands on one of those letters- it’s all true. Our suspicions are confirmed, I beg you to read it yourself.”

Justice Ziegler had clung to one of his arms “Anton, my boy, who might this be?” She asked, as innocent as Eve made requests of Adam. She’d turned to Swansilhilde herself now, her icy blue eyes impossible to tear away from. “Ah yes, Lady Swandilhide- where have you been dear? The White Angel’s nearly departed you know.” 

Justice Krause sighed “Godspeed, Princess. All this excitement has taken a toll on Mary” He attempted to steer Mary Ziegler away “Come little bird, let’s go rest now.” With that, he disappeared into the building once again, Ziegler still clinging desperately to his arm.

The carriage ride back had been equally hard to bear, as King Lukas had ridden off with more military men and left her alone. Swansilhilde was wracking her brain as to where King Lukas had produced such a stack of damning evidence; later that night, Krause’s pageboy had indeed come, bearing a cryptic note and parchment scribbled on with quill.

‘Behold,’ his own note had read ‘The evidence of that which we suspected- let us thank the Goddess he was arrested, before it was too late.’

It was indeed reputable, this mysterious note, signed by both guilty parties and stamped with the High Court’s wax seal. Thereupon was a tunnel system, drawn into close focus among the weaker segments of Wall Filomena. There was the handwriting of another, however, which at first looked to read ‘Gressler’. Upon further inspection, it seemed instead to read ‘Grisha’, a character who Swansilhilde knew nothing about. Her eyes flew to her dresser, tucked away in the corner of her chamber with discarded newsprint and a few open books. Wrapped in parchment, and stuffed inside of a night shirt: there was the mysterious document from one Captain Erwin Smith. She’d narrowed her eyes at it, and heaving a great sigh she’d burned Anton’s letter in her hearth, and threw herself onto her bed- dejected. 

The mysterious case of the Captain’s letter plagued Swansilhilde, as the ghost of its mystery shadowed her wherever she went. It migrated along side her, tucked into a robe or hidden in a pocket, never allowed to be viewed or seized by another. Swansilhilde was fighting the admission that she was too afraid to check its contents. She bit her lip, tasting the perfumed water of the hammam suddenly, and sank deeper into her stealy pool. Doubts, burgeoning like unwanted weeds in an otherwise immaculate garden, overcast her days. She lived in a cursory world of dares now: daring to question her father, daring to open the Captain’s letter- there was so much Swansilhilde longed to know. Anton had explained in his own letter that Lukas had dropped the document he’d gotten his hands on; desperate to know what the King was privy to, he’d let Mary Ziegler swipe it from off the floor. Swansilhilde wondered if her esoteric note from Captain Smith contained a similar message; perhaps the next great play the royal family was to make. She’d stuffed that letter where even Mia, with her constant rearranging of Swansilhilde’s things, would never find it. A derelict writing desk piled high with discarded items, which Swansilhilde retired to a corner of the room. The wood on the desk was so antique, so unimaginably old, the slightest brush could reduce it to pieces. There, where Swansilhilde’s childhood literature and diary were laid to rest, she’d stuffed the letter in parchment and then in chiffon; crammed it into the seams of the desk and its drawer. But where was Lukas hiding his own stack of cryptic letters? A mysterious riding accident, a day spent away from the castle, and a perfectly incriminating batch of letters.. It seemed like she’d stumbled into the plot of a half-baked drama, in which she was the unwitting audience-volunteer. There was much to think about these days, and nobody to discuss her findings with; unless Anton, and his keen messenger boy, would agree to lend her a friendly ear. Swansilhilde had, however, hatched a most dastardly plan in hopes of salvaging some information from her father’s study. The guilt of deceiving him was too much to bear, and she’d shut the prospect out of her mind, but the time was drawing close when trickery would breed trickery. Swansilhilde’s eyes narrowed, and as she tore herself from the heated bath water, a familiar pang of guilt began to nag at her.

Elsewhere in his study, King Lukas- the key figure of our little tragedy- was watching his hunting dogs from his window. Surreptitiously perched on its sill, the curtains were deathly still on either side of him, as the winds of Autumn had come to a halt. It wouldn’t be long now before The Hunt: the pride and joy of Wall Filomena. Soon nobleman and their selectively bred, carefully curated dogs would enclose upon the grassy plains and be judged on their rabbit-fetching abilities. Lukas’s dogs, with their shining chocolate-y fur and enormous jowls, would once again sweep the competition. After all, he thought with a chuckle, whose dogs could possibly beat the King’s- whose every hound was specially trained by a family of hound-breeders? In this cut throat world Lukas was forced into, the dogs and their slaughter of rabbits was his sole reminder he’d gotten the upper hand, over all others. How beautifully serene this night was, with its cicadas and autumnal smell; how easily ripped asunder by the barking of the hounds, as their paws ripped up turf and nature’s smallest creatures. 

Lukas’s eyes darted suddenly to his desk, whereupon sat a neatly folded stack of documents. These were the remnants from Grisha’s home, which had been surreptitiously burned to the ground now. Gressler had sent word that the official consensus had been arson by bandits, but Lukas sincerely doubted it. Hidden in the wall, behind a brick slightly greyer than all the others, was that strange vial he’d happened upon. It had been marked with a gaudy scrawl, in bleeding blue ink: White Angel. Among those few books and papers Lukas had managed to grab, he’d pieced together the nature of Grisha’s strange project. White Angel was a serum of sorts, some kind of strange man made elixir meant to be ingested or injected. Lukas huffed suddenly- why would Grisha have worked on such a thing? The cryptic nature of his notes, littered with math and foreign terminology, had astounded Lukas’s top mathematicians. Without knowing the details of their newest exploits, they’d poured over the carefully curated numbers, extracting any mathematical meaning they could. Alas their collective efforts were in vain, as the numbers couldn’t be traced to any known arithmetic or science. There were the usual footnotes Lukas expected from Grisha, echoes of his vague and varied statements as a young man. “Glory, titans, transformation, doomsday, reckoning” all terms Lukas had had spewed at him as a boy; out they poured from Grisha in a never-ending monologue about the future. Lukas debated burning the documents, but feared the repercussions of losing such valuable information. The most coherent documents of the bunch, letters between Fritz, Grisha and Gaetner, had barely made it back with him. Crawling through a scummy tunnel, in the blood stained grasp of Lukas’s fist, he’d worried if all that would have been spared had been shredded letters. Those measly three pages had been the great hammer of evidence he’d needed; swiftly enough he’d done away with the High Court in one blow. But now they sat among the gibberish, abandoned and unguarded on his desk, ready to be rifled through anew in the morning. Behind his oak desk sat a modest fireplace, with its small collection of leather tomes, and beside that a blank and stony grey wall. Therein was a single brick, far less saturated in color than all others. A cubby hallowed out with an ice pick, forged in the dead of night by a sleepless Lukas, held the strange vial and nothing else. Lukas had hoped it would be a suitable hiding place, perhaps forever. He’d debated waiting until Swansilhilde took the throne to reveal the vial’s location; fearing she’d not be able to make any more sense of it, Lukas instead toyed with the idea that it would remain there until she too was dead. After all, with Fritz’s spies in Filomena successfully arrested what danger was left among them? Only the ageing Wall Filomena herself, with all her imperfections and cracks and sore spots. Something would be done immediately, Lukas had resolved, he’d work feverishly according to Schmidt’s letters- wherein the Wall’s weaknesses had been laid out for Fritz to read. Lukas’s eye clouded over for a moment, phasing him away from the hounds, the study and his own mortal body. For a second he was simply consumed with a wave of fear, too primal to have been denied for as long as he’d been trying to deny it. No, he reassured himself meekly, his feverish laboring would result in continued prosperity. They’d patch the wall, mend society, execute conspirators, and soon enough the sun would rise on the prospects of justice.

“Yes,” he whispered, eyeing that foreign greyish stone “Soon.”


	14. Der Kleine Maulwurf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weighing the scales of deceit and the pursuit of truth, young Princess Swansilhilde puts paternal love aside in search of answers. Elsewhere in the castle plans are swiftly underway for the Princess’s betrothal to a mysterious nobleman, born and brought up to serve her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the MOST kick ass title for the next chapter I did so much research y’all.. Anyway this is technically from the last chapter but it was so long I broke it into two so we’ll call this “chapter 14” but like...you know.. Also- hope you liked the ghost symbolism I used here, the imagery theme is ominous and ghostly~
> 
> Quarantine update from my bedroom turned office: allergy season is here so I’m coughing/sneezing/feeling generally v miserable. Every time I so much as feel a little off (like even just heartburn from eating 200 pounds of chocolate chips) I’m like OH DEAR GOD IT’S CORONA. It’s so stupid but I can’t stop the paranoia... titans have become my happy place..
> 
> Chapter title reads: “the little mole”  
> So there’s a story called “The story of the little mole who knew it was none of his business” (yes that’s the full title). It’s a German kid’s book, complied by the brothers Grimm, about a mole who gets shat on and goes in search of the responsible party. The whole book is this mole trying to get animals to poop so he can compare with the one on his head. In the end, the flies that come to chill on the poop ID it as Basil the butcher’s dog, and the mole in turn shits on the dog’s head. I was like oh come on not to sound like an English Teacher but that’s gotta be some fanfic appropriate symbolism. I also thought since Swannie is sneaking around in some “shit” that clearly probably isn’t her business right now- it’s fitting.
> 
> *Kronk voice* oh yeah it’s all coming together..

She’d made her way from the hammam to the sprawling library like a ghost. Travelling along the same route, her night clothes billowing ominously behind her, Swansilhilde’s apparitional form disappeared down a dark hallway. Here, in this sprawling library where nobody visited, she’d made a jolly little nest. Nestled safely on the balcony, facing the largest window in the library, Swansilhilde had occupied a small wooden table. Beside her stood a lone ladder which she used to climb and scale the shelves in search of more tomes; across from her an empty chair, as though some unseen figure stood sentry over her cursory work. Swansilhilde took refuge in the library nightly, forbidding Mia to enter lest she see what Swansilhilde was reading. She’d made it painfully clear nobody was to know she was laboring in the shadows, and a suitably creeped out Mia had agreed to lie for her. 

“Tell anybody come looking for me that I’m asleep. Stack my pillows beneath my blankets, and keep my mother occupied.” Swansilhilde had begged, when Mia had first discovered her roaming the empty halls.

“You want me to lie...to the Queen Mother-” Mia had murmured absentmindedly, staring at Swansilhilde as if she’d seen a ghost “-whatever for?”

Swansilhilde had sighed in defeat “I can’t tell you now, but it’s very important research. Just know all of it will make sense in time.”

Ever dutiful to her Lady, Mia breezed into the library in the morning to hide any evidence of Swansilhilde’s eating and drinking therein. By mid afternoon a secret assortment of snacks, presented on fine China, would appear on the corner of the table, before the princess arrived. Swansilhilde would then dispose of the evidence of her presence in a tiffin box, and leave it in a corner near a bookshelf to be collected by morning. The sprawling family library, with its many impressive publications, grand piano, and numerous floors, had sat rather abandoned lately. The triplet’s various teachers and tutors had taken up residence in the cozier parlor on another floor; thus the foot traffic in that desolate section of the castle was eliminated completely. The shape of the gliding spectral Princess Swansilhilde was the hallway’s only occupant, and there in the grim-dark shadows of the book shelves she’d carved out a niche for herself. What luck: those easily-riled tutors trading in the haunted, gaunt-looking library for the salmon-coloured drawing room. The Queen’s two floor personal library, with its ornate upholstered chairs and gold-gilded ladders, had become the busy den where Ulrike, Tanja and Karolina had their various teachings instilled. Away Swansilhilde went now, up the stairs and to the back of the immense room; passing the marble busts and the great family crest, embroidered proudly on a tapestry. “All Good Deeds Done in Heaven” it read, the motto of the Royal Family. Perhaps there was a time when Swansilhilde had gazed at it fondly, desperate to glean the meaning of those strange words. But tonight, for all intents and purposes, was not such a night. With the starless sky as her backdrop, colouring the stained glass patterns of the dome-like window, Swansilhilde lit a solitary candle. She’d snuffed out all others on her way to her little hovel, so as not to alert even a stray maid of somebody’s presence in the room. The candle light revealed a saucer of tea, and some butter cookies left for her by a dutiful Mia. Swansilhilde gazed with maternal tenderness at her open tomes, searching her memories of the night previous.

“Where was I...” she murmured distractedly, touching the tips of her lips with her quill.

Her desk had been split rather comically, one side occupied by frivolous romance novellas, and one by strict political tomes. Swansilhilde had often thought of bringing the Captain’s letter down with her in order to read it in private. The library felt like a realm of its own- far from the prying eyes of human beings. But alas, her curiosity remained unsatiated as her trembling hands betrayed her apprehension. No, she thought suddenly, it didn’t feel like the right time. After all, there was another all-consuming secret she longed to get to the bottom of. What exactly was her father doing in his study? What was with that dastardly blinded eye of his? Where did the mysterious letter, given to her by Anton in a show of confidence, come from? Swansilhilde furrowed her brow in anger; she could almost see him- the King. Cooped up, pacing perhaps, pouring over that stack of letters with its green felt ribbon. Was he just as mad as her? Just as desperate for answers? Just as scheming and conniving- trying to bury a shady and unforgiving part of himself? Yes, thought Swansilhilde weakly, this horrible insatiable quest for the truth must have come from him; a genetic package she wished she could have rejected. How nice it would have been to be like her own mother, or like the triplets.

“Simple,” murmured Swansilhilde dreamily “Unassuming...gentle...” she passed her hand along the illustration of a human body “Like a poor fool in love.”

Ah, there it was again, that strange ache in the pit of Swansilhilde’s stomach. That horrible tugging at her heart strings. In the intersection of filial disobedience and sheer paternal betrayal, there lay a feeling even more mysterious and foreign. Swansilhilde had hand-waved it away her entire life, the so-called need for companionship. It had been locked away in a prison of her own making, until it had been bizarrely plucked to the forefront of her mind by Levi. As though in a dizzy trance, Swansilhilde’s mind became derailed with strange fantasies and dreams. Men, in all their glorious forms and with all their handsome habits, occupied the space of her thoughts. Fear, desire, loathing and happiness were all suspended by her desire for love- like a strange pendulum which undulated according to the beating of her fickle heart. The table before her bore signs of the slippery slope into lovesick madness; it was littered with poetic literature and poems. Swansilhilde had managed to find a particularly vexing book atop a shelf coated in dust, it read “Human Anatomy” and thinking it to be educational, she’d scoured its contents. Swansilhilde had effectively been unable to contain her cry of shock, as she happened upon the chapter about connubial activities. That night the hours seemed to drag heavy, as she’d stared down in confusion and rapt attention at the various diagrams before her. Swansilhilde was aware of what pregnancy was, obviously, but she’d never stopped to consider how babies ‘came about’ as it were. That strange sensual longing of hers, that magnetic pull in Levi’s direction, had finally been given a name. Swansilhilde wanted to have sex! In fact there was hardly a thing she wanted more than that! She’d felt as though the Goddess of Love herself had come down on a rosy cloud, and had awakened Swansilhilde’s loins at last. 

“Sex,” she’d laughed in a bark, on that fateful night “It’s only s-sex! Oh dear...”

This horrible secret of the natural world revealed, Swansilhilde had barely been able to maintain eye contact with her poor mother over breakfast the next morning. She didn’t fully understand what went on in the embrace of conjugal love, but whatever the physical process was it seemed important enough. Human anatomy fit together like a puzzle, but there seemed to be much ado about the various forms of coupling- whatever that meant. Swansilhilde had been seized with the realization that whatever sex entailed exactly, she’d be expected to perform in an astounding display for her future husband. Oh dear Goddess, she’d lamented over that same breakfast, I’m going to have a husband aren’t I? After many sleepless nights, stewing her naivety in those strange mangled feelings, she’d tried to picture her fiancée. What would a man ‘made’ for Swansilhilde look like, after all? Would they be happy together- or even get along? Swansilhilde’s head swam with a mixture of excitement and fear, and oftentimes she’d find herself spacey and side tracked as she attempted to picture ‘him’. 

In a moment of frustration she’d abruptly shut the book on anatomy, and sat down huffily. There were more important things at hand, namely the unsavoury business of her father’s strange behaviour. If she could only have found something- a hint perhaps- in those aged textbooks of hers. Notes on the economy, on the social sciences, and on the findings of philosophers as far as Sina were not particularly helpful, for once. She’d even consulted the library’s history books, but couldn’t dream up a satisfying answer for the King’s behaviour. Her thoughts were cut short as the barking of the hounds reached her ears; they were scurrying across the castle fields, with their masters barking in turn after them. Swansilhilde’s face suddenly broke out into a grin, and the semblance of a plot began to take shape in her mind. The Hunt would happen any day now, and her father would be desperate for a distraction. She’d be willing to bet everything she had that Lukas couldn’t resist the temptation to watch the hounds at work; when he’d disappeared for those few sweet hours, Swansilhilde would close in on his study like a predatory owl. Her efforts were frustrated, and her constant worrying hadn’t produced even a moniker of coherent thought. It seemed that Swansilhilde’s only option in the world, as horrible and heart breaking as it was, was to indeed betray her father. King Lukas, who had so dutifully looked after his family, had at last skirted the line between doting parent and callous betrayer. Swansilhilde took a deep breath, drawing her robes tighter around herself. This was the impasse of her heart: to picture her father as anything less than the shining beacon of hope for her people. The time had come to enact her underhanded plan to snoop in his study, and in turn to say goodbye to whatever faith remained in King Lukas himself. He’d shown her, with his strange secrecy and wild eyes, that his own faith in Swansilhilde’s capacity to rule was surely dwindling. The rigmarole of her time at the capital had been an impotent display of misguided civility, and the constant stress of Swansilhilde’s decision making had been hand-waved away. During times such as this, when her father seemed so unkept and reclusive, she wondered if he hadn’t always been like that. Had their merry years of playing house been an elaborate act, by a man who hadn’t had faith in a female heir? No, Swansilhilde thought desperately, here on the precipice of total destruction the nature of their relationship had simply morphed. Swansilhilde’s terrible guilt, in deceiving he who had made a grand display of deceiving her in turn- this was the true travesty. For she knew the awful truth of the matter she’d tried to bury and discount, and that truth was most perilous and back stabbing of all. The time had come for Swansilhilde to take the throne; the wonderful set dressing of true love and obedience founded in childhood meant nothing now. Perhaps she’d realized it long ago, farther in the past than she’d hoped to admit, but the time to usurp her father’s throne had come. This nasty business of secret letters was simply the final knell of King Lukas’s funerary march. Swansilhilde resolved, gazing out the window in forlorn devastation, to ask her mother to arrange her marriage in the morning. In a year’s time she’d be the Queen of Carolingian, and her father would be a happy hindsight in Wall Filomena’s history.

The day of The Hunt had somewhat snuck up on the castle, as the increased confusion of a certain missing King and Princess weighed heavy on peoples’ minds. Everywhere servants peeked around corners and murmured to each other, wondering why King Lukas and Princess Swansilhilde seemed to drift in and out of the public eye like ghouls in a storybook. When one would be caught they’d gaze back at the sorry servant with a strange light in their eyes; muttering something about a time and place that needed attending to, they’d once again saddle off into the winding halls of the castle.

“She must be going mad,” a scullery maid had said of Mia over breakfast “She barely sees her Lady anymore. All day long she’s all talk- complaining that something is afoot.”

“Well now-” a stable boy had began, breaking a baguette in half “-Mia’s the type of gal that would worry herself sick, if she’s got nothing better to do.”

But no one was quite so worried sick, that morning, as an agitated Princess Swansilhilde. Her eyes had been glued to her father before her, as he read a publication and ate porridge. Her hand, clasped around a spoon, had been hovering over her own bowl for several minutes as she’d focused on his wrinkled face. Any minute now the family would file down to the royal grounds, and as her father prepared to address his various noble guests and their dogs, she’d race back up to his study. She’d heard a rumour Anton Krause was set to make an appearance in good faith; while Swansilhilde had very important matters to attend to, her heart had given its signature thump of happiness when she’d heard his name. Swansilhilde’s eyes, probably crazed with eagerness, hadn’t left her father’s surly form. They’d honed in on his eyepatch, appropriately bejewelled for a King, and luckily his good eye hadn’t yet met her gaze. 

Somebody nudged her, and swansilhilde dropped her spoon suddenly. The table at large gave her a bit of a look, and her father simply glanced over before flipping his page. Tanja had nudged Swansilhilde, and was now gazing intently into her eyes.

“Well Swannie?” She was asking “I don’t think Ulrike’s right at all.”

Ulrike had stopped chugging a large vat of orange juice, and simply stuck her tongue out in annoyance.

“Mother!” Cried Tanja irritably “She’s doing it again!”

The Queen descended on the sisters in her usual manner, attempting to separate the disgruntled duo from Swansilhilde. Swansilhilde stared dumbly at her porridge, and tuning out the sounds of the disgruntled triplets she made an announcement in the direction of her bowl.

“I want to get married.” She said suddenly

The table at large was quarrelling, and it seemed only her father had caught wind of Swansilhilde’s words. Still not quite paying attention, he was balancing a sausage on his fork and reading.

“What’s that dear?” Asked her mother, as she leaned over and handed Karolina a roll

Swansilhilde looked up into her father’s face, and not breaking eye contact with that horrible eyepatch announced: “I want to get married. Immediately.”

The table went as silent as a grave, so only the howling winds outside could be heard. Karolina dropped her roll, and Tanja’s chewing mouth hung open; the Queen and Ulrike, previously quarrelling, were staring in Swansilhilde’s general direction. Her mother’s mouth was twitching as though forming words, but no words were escaping her.

“I want to meet my suitor,” Swansilhilde said calmly, now meeting her father’s stern gaze “And I’d like very much to be married.”

“Well Lukas,” her mother began quietly “It is almost that time...”

King Lukas was staring defiantly at Swansilhilde; his fork had been abandoned, and his paper lolled in his grip. He and Swansilhilde were having the world’s quietest argument, staring angrily at one another as though foes for life. 

“Indeed.” He managed, and huffing and puffing he returned to his paper “I take it the time has come for you to be looking forward to your coronation, then?” He asked slyly.

“You always said, marriage was the vessel through which stateliness must come.” Swansilhilde retorted.

Her father’s face fell for a moment, as though he were worried his teachings had been too good, and had unravelled his undoing on their own. Lukas seemed bothered, perhaps by the notion his daughters were becoming adults; perhaps also by the notion he’d soon be giving up the reigns of the kingdom.

“Well?” Swansilhilde asked the table at large, as though waiting for some grand permission.

“It can be arranged my dear,” her mother said weakly, turning her worried frown towards Lukas “I’ll have to send word to the nobility, I suppose.”

Lukas was again engrossed in his paper, blushing furiously. Swansilhilde remarked that while he maintained the airs of reading, his eyes had been locked in place for a while.

“As you wish,” he responded gruffly, and suddenly eyed Swansilhilde with utmost concern “So shall it be.”

For a moment nobody spoke, and only the occasional hums and coos of a concerned Queen could be heard over breakfast. The triplets were eyeing each other wildly, as if they’d been made aware of a grand scheme. Only Swansilhilde, still staring dumbly into her bowl, seemed to be in a state of disbelief. Where had that sudden, unplanned announcement come from? So completely wrapped up in her breaking into the King’s study, Swansilhilde’s ambitions had made their debut. What had changed in the seconds between scrutinizing her father, and the sudden urge to dethrone him? Ah, she thought bitterly, that was it wasn’t it? In her most conspiratorial moments Swansilhilde found herself longing to usurp the kingdom away from Lukas, like a morally righteous Schmidt or Gaetner. How strange this newfound sense of rebellion was, it made her long for her childhood when Lukas’s word was truly law in her eyes.

The tension was weighing heavy on Swansilhilde’s appetite (or lack thereof); grace had come in the form of Mia, who’d announced the girls were to be dressed for the opening speeches. Herding the girls and their mother away, she’d swept up the King’s newspaper as his footman came bustling in. Swansilhilde saw this as her merry cue to bolt, but was held in place by a small hand on her lap. It was Karolina, the littlest of the bunch, gazing fondly up at Swansilhilde. Her glittering eyes round in concern, she’d given Swansilhilde a small pat.

“What will happen now?” She asked unprompted, sending Swansilhilde into bullet-like sweats “Are you going to meet your swan Prince?” This last part sounded less like an accusation, and more like Karolina would burst into tears.

“I don’t know what happens now,” murmured Swansilhilde “Much to do I’m afraid.”

Brushing a lock of hair out of Karolina’s face, Swansilhilde tore her guilty gaze from that childish mug at once. Swansilhilde rose curtly, and giving Karolina’s little hand a firm squeeze she’d herder her after her sisters. Watching the confused little Princess disappear through a golden archway, Swansilhilde’s familiar pangs of guilt washed over her. How many more people would she be forced to lie to in good faith? Her family’s motto: All Good Deeds Done in Heaven, seemed more like an ominous warning with every passing day.

Meanwhile, Lukas was being fitted into his hunting robes by a yammering footman. The man was prattling on about the absence of a certain Thomas, who’s body Lukas knew to have been left behind in Sina. It was unsightly business to be sure, but Lukas couldn’t simply divulge the true nature of Thomas’s disappearance. Instead he’d had a rumour cooked up that Thomas was sulking somewhere, sometimes over a girl other times over work- but out of the public eye no less. Lukas’s other unlucky cohort had been given extensive leave and a handsome pay, and lived in the military barracks. He’d been telling people they’d had an unfortunate horse riding accident, and with his leg the way it was, he’d never be able to serve again.

“The ingrate,” the young footman muttered “I’ll bet he’s upset I assigned him to be a shoe-shiner. Can’t all have luxurious jobs then, can we? Last time he sulked like this he went back to his old mother’s place to mope- I’d bet a pretty penny he’s over there now.”

Lukas had been nodding politely, as though following the senior footman’s train of thought; inside however, the looming feeling of panic was churning his insides. He’d barely digested his breakfast bratwurst, before his daughter’s impending marriage threatened to tear him apart. A paternal jealousy had nestled like a lump above Lukas’s heart, and as his tailors pricked and prodded him he could only feel the growing strain on his nerves. He was desperately trying to remember the boy’s face, he who Queen Filumena had raved about a few years prior.

“The boy is fifteen, Lukas!” She’d cried that night, nestling beneath their comforter with her usual beaming smile “You’d hardly believe your eyes; he plays the violin, the piano, and does archery for sport!” She gripped Lukas’s arm with such a fervour he’d been jolted off his pillow.

“Now now, Filumena, what of the boy’s character?” He’d been just as panicked then as he was now. Upstairs he knew little Swansilhilde had been fast asleep- he’d tucked her in himself. He was desperately trying to avoid the visual of her waltzing down the aisle.

“Oh he’s very handsome thank you for asking,” the Queen had rambled on, clearly not paying attention to Lukas’s concerns “He has the face of a little renaissance cherub! Soft blonde hair-“

“Blonde?” Lukas had grumbled “Does Swansilhilde even like blondes?”

Filumena pursed her bow shaped lips in thought “Well,” she mused softly “He was conceived with her very wishes in mind Lukas. She must have some kind of propensity for blondes, right?”

Lukas had sighed; his wife showed no signs of halting her excited outpour. Her journey to the boy’s estate had been met with great apprehension from Lukas himself. Filumena was clearly enamoured with...well Lukas didn’t quite remember the kid’s name...but far be it from him to have questioned his wife’s good graces.

“I can’t help but feel she won’t be ready.” Lukas had admitted suddenly

“Oh dear,” his wife sighed, staring languidly up at him “I don’t think Swansilhilde will have any troubles ruling the people. You’ve taught her so well my King,” Filumena hummed happily “It’s a shame I spend all day with the girls. I’m sure the triplets would be quite keen to rule, if given the opportunity. My little swan, unfortunately, is her father’s daughter indeed! ‘No constitution for art, mummy’- that’s what she tells me all day long.”

Lukas and his wife had laughed merrily; as the Queen’s sing-song voice prattled on about her afternoon with that noble boy, Lukas could no longer entertain his apprehension. 

But alas! A new wave of torment was gripping Lukas now; Swansilhilde couldn’t have chosen a less opportune time to ask for her engagement. It almost seemed, Lukas thought frantically, as if she’d acted out of spite. How strange it was, to imagine his little strategist as a marital trickster. Then again, Lukas frowned, this sounded suspiciously like something he’d have done himself. He had time, he wagered desperately; there was still a year to prepare, at least a month before the boy would be shuttled over for Swansilhilde to meet. Maybe Lukas could convince her the boy was no good, and she’d give the whole affair up. That was a merry little problem, he chortled suddenly; there would be no sorry kingdom to clean up after if Swansilhilde wasn’t queen- right? Perhaps Lukas could hold back the floodgates of disaster until his dying breath, and effectively spare his daughter from inheriting a terrible burden. Lukas’s thoughts flew immediately to that strange, hidden vial; what a bittersweet wedding present it would be, to happen upon such a damning scrap of evidence. 

But unfortunately for the King this damning shred of evidence, in the bleak march to his own condemnation, was to be happened upon sooner rather than later. The outpour of support from the nobility, for The Hunt, had been tremendous. High on the fumes of a hard battle long-fought, they’d arrived en masse to celebrate Schmidt and Gaetner’s arrests. “Down with Gaetner, down with Schmidt!” They’d chanted, as thought they’d known any better about the pair’s true nature. Here, in the nest of the whole putrid affair, the most lavishly dressed and indulged in Carolingian had come to roost. Swansilhilde had been lined up alongside her sisters and mother, among beautiful banners and high-flying wind socks. There on the plains which surrounded the castle, a cacophony of drinking men and howling dogs had assembled. The Royal Family had gathered behind the King, who began a rousing speech to his fellow patrons. Swansilhilde was craning her neck to see over the many Carolingian flags, flying proudly over the plains. They were royal purple, picked out in gold, with wonderful tassels swinging to and fro. Beyond the crowd of noblemen stood the houndsman and their great bloodhounds, and behind them sat great cages full of rabbits. Swansilhilde wrinkled her nose, how callous it was to feed the poor little dears to dogs, for sport. She’d been dressed in an obnoxious fur cloak, with a large sea-green broach. Her hair was neatly piled on her head like a soft cinnamon bun. Mia had insisted on sewing her annoyingly heavy tiara into her hair, and Swansilhilde’s forehead was itching from the great ruby dangling from it; it kept whacking her square between the eyes whenever she drew breath. The day was beautifully sunny, but the harsh autumn winds were slicing through the crowd and stirring fallen leaves and brush.

Swansilhilde had been desperately looking for a way out, for what seemed like several lifetimes. Her father continued avidly making his speech, his thunderous voice colouring the morning among rapturous applause. Beside her, the Queen and the triplets stood like perfect little soldiers. They had been dressed in equally obnoxious winter wear, although the Queen wore a great rhinestone crown. The gems on it had been polished so perfectly, Swansilhilde could clearly see her reflection out of the corner of her eye. They were standing on a kind of stage, adorned with many wind chimes which were letting loose all manner of sounds. Behind them a great curtain separated their spectator’s seats from a backstage production of cookery, scullery maids and various assorted soldiers. Swansilhilde had been inching to the edge of said curtain, hoping to quickly duck behind the scenes, and escape back into the castle. Luck, it would seem, was in her favour; among the crowd were several flag wielders. Balancing the great flags on long wooden poles, the men were parading in and out of the backstage cacophony. Suddenly, as Swansilhilde attempted to surreptitiously peer behind her, a small girl bearing a flag came barreling out. Bumping square into the Princess, and hurdling the two behind the Satan curtain, they’d landed- one on her knees and one on her arse, before each other.

It took a moment for the girl’s eyes to adjust, but she suddenly peered at Swansilhilde in horror. “Oh dear Goddess!” She cried, clasping her hands over her own mouth “I’m so very sorry! I told Michael not to give me the crest- he said he’d only be gone for a moment!”

Swansilhilde massaged her head, and was delighted to find her tiara had been knocked loose. “Give me your cloak!” She whispered loudly, her eyes darting frantically over the scene before her. Cooking outdoors required such a throng of servants, nothing could be seen save workers scurrying here and there. Swansilhilde was nervously searching for Mia, praying she hadn’t caught sight of the scene.

The girl peered hopelessly back at her, and Swansilhilde sighed in irritation. She plucked her tiara off and planted it into the maid’s hands. “Go find Mia, give her this and tell her I’ve gone back to my chamber to change. You can tell her I stepped in some mud and soiled my undercoat.”

The maid girl nodded in a panic, her eyes so wide she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“And give me your cloak!” Swansilhilde hissed.

Putting the cloak on, and watching the girl pitter-patter about with the tiara clutched like a delicate baby rabbit, Swansilhilde departed. She drew her hood, and hoping her tall stature wasn’t enough to draw attention to herself she removed both her delicate flats (throwing them beneath a great scullery pot) and tore back up to the castle. She’d ducked into a winding abbey of sorts, and safely camouflaged in the shadow of some creeping vines, she threw off the cloak. Finally, she thought desperately, shedding the equally cumbersome fur cape. Swansilhilde had been smart to request a long taffeta dress, one she’d bought herself many years ago. Mia had picked out a most interesting and tedious ensemble, one which would make scurrying about in the dark most impossible. Instead, Swansilhilde had produced the dress from a forgotten hat box; Mia had forgotten the taffeta dress’s slight defect: it had silver snaps at the waist, causing the fabric to be shed quite easily. Swansilhilde at once shed the first layer of baby pink taffeta, revealing a knee length skirt, and her white satin bloomers. She looked like a jester of some kind, with half a dress on over her bodice, and her bloomers on display. She’d de-bunned her hair, and ran her fingers through her long tresses before gathering them up with a ribbon and tying them in place. Creeping among the hallway columns, she spied somebody tearing through the grounds: Mia.

A few minutes, Swansilhilde breathed raggedly, I’ll appear in my room and say I tried to undress myself. She looked down at her discarded clothing and huffed, stuffing it into a flower pot covered in cobwebs. At least we know, she thought slyly, nobody seems to pay much attention to this urn. She’d have to return for her things later, she resolved, and soon enough she was tearing down the hall herself. Swansilhilde had carefully tread through these halls in the dead of night, mapping the road to her father’s study. She’d been sure to know where she was at all times, since there were numerous points of entry from the grounds to the castle. In the interest of avoiding cheating, Lukas had been purposely vague with the exact location of The Hunt. Swansilhilde, suitably annoyed, had traversed the entrances and exits by candlelight, marking anything which stood out with red ochre. Her efforts proved successful as she happened upon a great statue of a soldier, with red marred shoes. Turning right, she’d sprinted down the hall with renewed force.

There it was- she was deliriously happy! Her father’s study door stood before her, unguarded and unassuming, in a hallway kept purposely unoccupied. Swansilhilde planted her hands on it with a bang, as though clasping a long lost lover. She stared, smiling stupidly, at the brass handle and finally gave it a great jerk.

“Locked!” Swansilhilde hissed “Of course it’s locked!”

She’d hardly had a moment to backtrack mentally through her master plan, when there came a familiar and slimy voice behind her.

“Well it’s bound to be locked, did you think he’d left it open for you?”

Swansilhilde turned around sharply, one hand still clasped tightly around the door handle. She could feel her cheeks burning with shame as she considered her current ensemble and position; she was sufficiently horrified to find herself in plain view of one Mister Gressler.

“You?” She asked incredulously “Whatever are you doing here?”

Gressler removed his great black top hat and brought it to his chest, smiling sweetly. 

“Well my dear, I’d ask you the same thing.” He retorted.

Swansilhilde’s lips wrinkled together in anger, and she felt the shameful flush of guilt spreading once again. Gressler sighed, and removed his equally impressive-looking black coat. He held it out to Swansilhilde, whose knuckles tightened on the door.

“Here,” he murmured, sounding bored “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Swansilhilde eyed him suspiciously “You’re helping me...why?”

Gressler shrugged and jerked the coat at her, closing the gap between them in one great stride. “Let’s just say, we both have rather questionable intentions at this point in time.”

Swansilhilde snatched the coat, throwing it around herself and sighing at the welcomed warmth. She hadn’t noticed how cold she’d become, during her perilous sprint to her father’s study.

“I thought you’d gone back to the Capital?” She demanded suddenly, remembering the strange night that Gressler had suddenly departed.

“And I thought you’d be out there, fully-clothed and spectating.” Came the dry remark. The two maintained annoyed eye contact for a moment, but Gressler at last broke the silence “I heard Gaetner and Schmidt were just done away with-“ he waved his hand “It was so marvellously suspicious, I couldn’t stay put. I’d gone to the great library to retrieve my key to your father’s study- hidden in a medical textbook.”

Swansilhilde’s heart sank to the soles of her feet as she observed Gressler’s obnoxiously self-preening facial expression. He seemed so tired today, so intangibly exhausted, as his usually silky hair had lost its luster; his eyes were clouded over by purplish bags, and his skin was pale. He seemed generally unkempt, and perhaps like he’d suddenly lost a few pounds. This made his presence all the more exhaustingly suspicious.

“Imagine my shock,” he began with one raised eyebrow “To find a hidden study nook- and a surreptitiously scoured medical book.” He raised his hand, where a keyring sat on his middle finger “Worth noting of course the key was hidden in the glossary. But I’m sure you didn’t notice that among your important research.”

“I’ll have you excommunicated.” Swansilhilde said flatly 

“Now, now Princess,” Gressler snorted, rolling his eyes “As luck would have it, we’re both in the market to break into this study aren’t we? Move aside, I want to see this mysterious stack of letters everyone’s yammering on about. Your father made a grand show of touting them around the High Courthouse, or so I’m told.”

Swansilhilde wrinkled her nose “You’re not to tell anybody I was here.” She barked, sounding more confident than she felt.

Gressler bowed, keeping his heavy lidded eyes planted firmly on her face. “Of course, my lady. I expect you won’t be telling anybody of this merry little escapade of yours. Poor thing, so curious, so misguided; all wrapped up in these unsavoury secrets.”

Swansilhilde rolled her eyes “What a complicated web we weave.” She added sarcastically.

Gressler enclosed upon the door, fiddling with the lock “You know, you remind me of a certain Anton Krause,” he suddenly wrinkled his nose “What an annoyingly prude little imp.”

The great wooden door opened with a damning creak, and Gressler gestured merrily to the inside “I wager you’d all get along- you, the golden retriever and that Krause fellow. If you weren’t already betrothed I’d dare say you’d do well to marry him.”

Gressler snorted and let himself into the study, Swansilhilde on his heels and blushing furiously; she closed the door with great effort behind them.

“So,” Gressler had began again, stretching and setting his cane down “I hear the King’s done away with the long-awaited coup, using a mysterious bunch of letters.” He peered at Swansilhilde out of the corner of his eye, as she gazed nervously out of a window; the crowd gathered for The Hunt could be seen below. “What say you?” He asked.

Swansilhilde sighed “I can’t say,” she murmured as she scanned Lukas’s desk “I caught a glimpse of them once, but whatever they are they’re awfully well-hidden.”

Gressler hummed appreciatively “I’m only annoyed I hadn’t done away with the little weasels myself. You spend a lifetime spying on people- and you still can’t garner the King’s good graces.”

Swansilhilde was now running her hands to and fro on the mantle “Maybe if you didn’t spy on people, we’d be more keen to trust you.”

Gressler sighed, tracing the edge of the desk with his fingertip. He waited for the princess to turn around again, and snuck a single piece of parchment out of a book, and into his vest.

“Oh my darling, how righteous and foolish you are. I do the King’s bidding, and in turn I get fed. What good is the allegiance of that nefarious Fritz anyway? I’d be turned away at the mercy of Schmidt’s lot, if I turned my back on Wall Filomena.”

Swansilhilde snorted “Oh how very astute of you, Mister Gressler. In my kingdom I won’t need to debase myself with the use of spying- thank you very much.”

Gressler was sitting on a futon, staring mischievously at Swansilhilde.

“Now, you really are an altruist. You’d think, with all this time spent skulking about like your father’s shadow, you’d have learned something. There is no storybook kingdom, my love, not in this world. Paradis Island is the nightmarish moor where ambition comes to die. You either starve, perhaps marginally, in good faith; or starve others, and escape with their riches to feed your own family.”

Swansilhilde drew the coat around her “So why are you here then? Why all this sneaking about- waxing poetic about your pride? Go on.”

Gressler shrugged “I simply wanted to see,” he murmured “If I was being made to starve.”

He rose with a flourish, and grasping his cane firmly in one hand, he bowed with open arms. 

“Back I go to Sina, I’m afraid. We shan’t tell anyone of this great escapade of ours, yes?” he tilted his head to one side playfully “I do hope we meet again, my dear. Perhaps on better terms.”

Swansilhilde, dejected, had placed her palms on her father’s desk. She was peering at Gressler with loathing for his whole miserable self.

“Godspeed,” she’d added curtly “Thank you for the coat.”

Gressler had smiled wickedly, as he was often known to do, and had sauntered out of the study with his feline gait. Now there was only Swansilhilde, and surely she’d run out of time. Mia must have been halfway to her chambers by now, frantic and panicked and bent out of shape. Swansilhilde sighed, her efforts had been in vain, and she’d now have to flee out of obligation. This is when a miracle instead occured; tripping over the coat’s hem she bumped into a stone, not quite placed properly in the wall. It had fallen out with such a thud Swansilhilde was sure the whole kingdom had heard it. Her shaking hands desperately trying to put it back, she found herself gazing dumbly into a great brick-sized hole. There was something hidden inside: a strange vial with bright liquid. Swansilhilde grabbed it at once, and feeling the cool glass between her fingers breathed an incredulous sigh of victory.

“Dear Goddess,” she breathed in disbelief “What are you?”

She’d suddenly heard a noise, or perhaps she’d imagined it herself, a last ditch excuse to flee the scene of the crime. Her heart beating wildly, her ears burned with the effort to hear into the hallway, and she stuffed the vial back in place.

Meanwhile, Mia had been desperately pondering how her Lady had gotten into such a mess. Cradling her tiara like a child, she’d tore up to the Princess’s chambers as quick as she could. She’d come prepared, with a few extra clothes, and a lady in waiting in tow. Throwing open the door of Swansilhilde’s bedroom, she huffed desperately as she tried to catch her breath. There was her lady, half naked and seated on her bed. Her back was to Mia, and she seemed to be laboring to remove her corset herself.

“Ah,” Swansilhilde said cheerily “You’ve come! I’m terribly sorry, I thought I could undo all this on my own- I’m awfully flushed now, see?”

Mia had let out a cry of relief, and descended upon her Lady with warm washcloth in-hand. Swansilhilde smiled slyly as Mia fussed over getting her redressed, secure in the knowledge her red face would be interpreted as shame. She’d ripped down the halls with such a vigour, she thought she’d die of a lung spasm of sorts. Sighing contentedly as Mia spied her lack of shoes (and immediately began fretting loudly) Swansilhilde clutched her hands to her heart, as though still holding that strange vial.

A/N: JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS A BITCH TO WRITE. THERE NOW WE CAN OFFICIALLY GET TO THE REAL LEVI STUFF. JEEZ.


End file.
